Cruelty and the Beast
by The Mock Turtles
Summary: Three years after the series' close, Mugen suffers an unlikely turn of events. Fate deals him a bad hand and yet he is reunited with an old friend - but, can their tremulous relationship endure through this troubled time? FuuGen
1. Prologue

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Prologue - Dormant  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOc  
**S U M M A R Y** : Takes place three years after the series' close. Mugen's disruptive lifestyle has finally caught up with him; and about time too! Three years of listless wanderings have come to a close, or so he is initially lead to believe. Fate has dealt the vagabond a new hand - one that could revitalise his damaged reputation and put to the test all the skills he had honed from his travels, but whether he chooses to embrace this opportunity or reject the offer is all up to him.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters. Pft. D'you think I'd be here if I owned Mugen? xD

* * *

Boisterous – the feverous beat of parading performers could only be dominated by the yelling sea of voices from the public who chanted in time with the music. It was uncommon for such festivities to be held, nonetheless, when Edo finally submitted to the cultural demands of its residents, visitors would travel from afar to partake in the celebrations.  
The streets were flooded with the vivid colors of yukatas swirled from dancing girls; glistening silk painting the dull surroundings as they spilled outwards with each spinning turn. Even the small stands that offered few prized goods were veiled by the bright tones of the festival – no one, appeared an outcast on such a jovial night: not even a criminal considered an infringement on the face of the world.

Mugen prowled through the streets adorning his characteristic gi and tattered hakama that clung to his narrow hips. His left arm was slung casually around a young oiran that escorted him through the crowds, apparently acting more as a crutch than a companion for the drunken vagabond.  
"So how's 'bout we take this to a quiet'r place," he slurred, his face inclined towards hers while they trekked further from the heated uproar of the performing artists, following the sweet aroma of jasmine that bathed her neck and shoulders. His narrow eyes were unfocused; the iris covered in a light film as a result of his steady drinking though they had definitely acknowledged the distinct bosom of his pretty accomplice and remained fixed there as they journeyed.  
She had not accredited his request verbally, but Mugen felt himself being dragged further away from the hustle and bustle that circulated near Edo Bridge and into the dark reserves of the alleyways.  
"This is far enough," he said after a moment's walk, where the clamor of the gala was no more than a vague drone in his head. Drunkenly, he cajoled her towards the wall; fingers fumbling with the ribbons of her robes while pressing his lips to hers with as little finesse as possible.  
Then he felt it. He recognized how her fingers had briefly left his shoulders before he felt that sudden prick against the junction where his neck but was far too cockeyed to react to the gut instinct that warned him that something was wrong.

"Huah?"

Soon he felt his knees buckle and saw how his fingers grasped weakly at the silken robes of the geisha as he slid down her chest to kneel before her on the cold stone pavement. His eyes grew heavy and lolled from the corners of his eyes, catching the sharp object that was attached to the woman's hand. Despite the situation, Mugen smiled wickedly as his vision began to fail, only managing to observe the soft pouting lips of his capturer and the sharp gleam of her brown eyes before his world went dark. "It's always the pretty ones…"

The scent of musk was overwhelming, mingled with the distinctive smell of raw spices and herbs – many of which were foreign to Mugen. As he stirred his body came to terms with the brutal aching of his muscles and the throbbing that pulsed through his neck, spine and head. "What the hell," he groaned, his tongue thick against the curve of his cheeks as he tried to regain consciousness. He registered that he was indeed, indoors, but the lack of light made it impossible for him to distinguish any characteristics of the shack he was in. His legs ached; his entire body crushed beneath the weight of his own fatigue and although his legs and wrists had been tied by robe, he had no strength in his limbs to even attempt an escape.  
Groaning, Mugen paused his musing as he head the floorboards moan around him. "Alright, who the heck is there?" he said testily, turning himself on the ground with excruciating pain. As a hush concealed the positions of those around him, the convict noted the muted whine of music playing somewhere outside. They were indeed, still in Edo – probably only a few streets away from the main square, even.  
"You know, you should never trust a beautiful woman, Mugen. Especially one that so willingly offers you free sake and service." The voice that called to him was hoarse and monotone – a man no doubt. He had an aura about him that Mugen could not place; a haughtiness that seemed to be displaced behind his tired words that did not fit the caliber of his speech. It made the man's head throb even harder.

"Shouldn't trust women in general," Mugen retorted, wincing as he attempted to flex his muscles against his restraints. "Now cut the crap and tell me what you want and who the hell you are-"  
"Do you realize the penalties stacked against you?" He interrupted. His vague outline was illuminated the silver light that gleamed through the splintered wood of the ceiling, casting a portentous glow around the 'leader' of this group.

"Wha'?"

"You have committed more crimes than the amount of time you have been alive, Mugen."

"Yeah. So what?"

"It would be the most logical thing for me to execute you right now-"

"Then what are you waiting for?" Mugen spat. He despised whiny bitches that had to announce the reasons for wanting to kill him – none of them could just get it over and done with!  
His chocked breathes echoed through out the quarter; though a notable silence wedged itself between the two men. Again, the floorboards squealed as someone moved. He knew that there were others in the room, nonetheless aside from the odd shuffle; Mugen could not make a well-informed guess as to how many there were.

"However," he continued with that weary tone, "we have decided that it is in our best interests to erase theses charges against you for our benefit."

"We?"

"The Shogunates as a group have decided that… it may be profitable to keep you alive – with all your infamous talents it would be wasteful to dispose of you so quickly."

Mugen cursed under his breathe. For once, there was no witty remark he could use or no loop hole in his capturer's announcement that he could exploit for his own personal amusement. Rather, Mugen was content to rest; his distant gaze narrowing on what traces of the floor he could detect. "What's in it for you then? All seems good on my side – what do _you_ bastards get out of it?"  
There was a chuckle; an ominous laugh that made the prisoner shiver. Perhaps it was the absence of his swords, the fact that he was tied or the entire situation as a whole that made he fear what he had gotten himself into. Fear was not characteristic of the twenty-two year old, yet he could not deny that all of this havoc had his hair standing on end.  
"We… have a little job for you that require a man of your… expertise." Mugen's silence prompted him to continue. "We have some opposition in the south. We know that you should be familiar with the Ryukyu Islands and Satsuma. As well as that we have also been advised that you have traveled much of the south. With all your experience we think that you would be the perfect candidate to send to assassinate a few… enemies we have there."

"Who are we dealing with?"

"A few high ranking members of our organization have been trading with the East India Company without proper consent. They are importing good illegally and exploiting their position near the Ryukyu Islands. We need you to take of it."

"Why don't you send one of your fucking lapdogs down there to do it?"

"Because, we want this to be a quiet... investigation. These high ranking members have a lot of power and by eliminating them without our direct influence would prevent any turmoil."  
There was a long pause, and a bout of shuffling before the silence returned to the small shack. Mugen pressed the side of his face against the floorboard, inhaling deeply the rich odor of dust and rotten planks. He didn't want to go back to Ryukyu Island. Things happened there in his youth that he didn't care to remember – people that he knew whose memories would only be a burden on his mind. Besides… he did not like being told what to do.

"What do I get out of this shit again?"

"You will no longer be hunted for your current crimes. You will be paid for your work. Along with that… you will not be killed now."  
Mugen had never been one to fear death – though the circumstances by which he died had always bothered him. Nonetheless, in this outlook he felt that dying at the hand of these lunatics was far less appealing than the offer they had made.

"Who's the bitch, I go'tta take care off?"

He imagined him smiling; the bastard grinning away like the little bitch he was now that he had him under control. He despised not being the authority yet he was too dazed and confused to act as his conscience wished – rather he would just like to save his hide so that he could live to fuck these people over when he had recovered.  
"That information will be disclosed to you when you have reached the Satsuma province by one of our agents. Any other questions."

"Yeah – how the fuck am I meant to know who these people are."

"They'll find you… in good time." There was a brief murmur, a shuffle and Mugen felt the ground trembled with the new flourish of movement. He was positive that the movement of his limbs was coming back to him, yet he was still too weak to break the bonds of his ropes. "Well do you dumb-bitches intend to just leave me here?"  
"Of course. My mistake." The crisp snap of his fingers reverberated about the quarter, followed by a sudden shuffle of what sounded like sheets. Silken sheets. "Oh… and if you even try to escape… well, I think you understand the process of execution better than any of us."  
The soft thud of footsteps vibrated against Mugen's skull and he winced as the figure kneeled before his face; the scent of jasmine penetrating his senses. "Ahh, so we meet again," he rasped, his lips curling into his trademark smirk as the undercover oiran's cold fingers collided and stroked the tuffs of hair that rested along the back of his neck. Again, there was that familiar prick and his body slowly obeyed the strong serum that was injected to his system. "Women do the dirty work…"

* * *

**N O T E S** : Sorry for the crapiness of this entry! Not very good at prologues are you can see, but I assure you that I'll get more character-detailed later on.  
I didn't want to go into too much depth for the opening, so I left most of it ambigious. Oh and I am a semi-colon whore.  
First chapter is dedicated to m'dear Schuyler [_IchigoluvsRukiaforever_ whose fanfics inspired moi to do one of my own. Luff ya, m'dear.  
333


	2. Chapter One

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter One - Realisation  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : She has the heart of an adventurer. Inside, Fuu can feel herself being torn between the logic of her mind and the desire and longing that lurks beneath her innocent facade; between the voice that screams for another epic journey and other voyage of self-discovery. But without the comfort of her companions Mugen and Jin can she manage?  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

**T WO . M O N T H S . L A T E R**

* * *

The wind blew softly now; the sweet bell of the chimes resonating through out the small quarter to celebrate the blazon glare of the sunset. The gilded tips of the various houses and shops radiated a warm glow about the peaceful village, providing light for those few lingering customers that stalked through the aged walkways; straw hats curling secretively over their features in a shroud of darkness that erased the fine lines and curves that characterized a person.

It was beautiful no doubt. This small southern town was picturesque – a real quaint area that Fuu knew she would have longed for in her youth. The little tea house she worked at was far more productive and successful than the vague recollection of the old place she used to work at when she was still a young teenager. The villagers were kind; generally an older class of residents that were too old and senile to have even the slightest bad streak within them, that would come to the tea house for a relaxing afternoon. Of course, you had the odd character that was part of some gang that brought in his brigade of unorthodox geishas and asked for bottles of sake until closing time. Aside from those select few that Fuu had to batter away when they would reach out drunkenly for her kimono, all was relatively peaceful.  
The petite waitress smiled weakly at her surroundings, comfortably inclined towards the wooden enforced frame of the doorway as she watched the citizens roll by; greeting the odd few that exited from the tea house before scuttling off onto their own paths in search of their home.

Fuu had not grown much in height since that faithful day she had parted ways with the ronin and the vagabond, nonetheless she had begun to fill out the gaps in her pink kimono with age though she was hardly prepared to admit that she had anything that could impress… _him_. She shook the notion from her mind.

"Fuu."

Fuu peered round her shoulder at a small woman who hobbled towards the exit; back curving with age with skeletal hands that clutched at a crooked walking stick.

"Hitomi-San," Fuu greeted the elder woman with a genuine grin, her arms outstretched to help her though she was waved off by the proud grandmother.  
"Now Fuu, just because I am old doesn't mean I am to be pitied," she scolded the eighteen year old waitress despite her evident smile. Her withered arms clutched at the stick harder as she dragged herself to the exit; peering at the collection of people that trotted back and forth through the streets. Fuu was staring at them wistfully, her soft gaze caught on a trio in particular – two men and a girl that were lounging together at a cheap-food stand on the other end of the street. The foreigners were ravaging the food in front of them, reminding Fuu of memories that had never failed to cheer her up – and sadden her – when they played in her head.

"Ahh, what it means to travel, eh, Fuu?"

She nodded; a mixed glimmer of admiration and longing filtering into her chocolate eyes as she continued to observe the trio with interest. Although Fuu was a good business woman and would never get less than what was required, she had to admit that she had grown a soft spot for wandering travelers and would give odd discounts to the few that reminded her of times long past. She chuckled unhappily under her breath. _It's over now…_  
"I shall be in here tomorrow Fuu, and I expect some good herbal tea as always," the old woman noted as she plopped herself down the few steps onto the bumpy path, molding into the crowds that blossomed around her.  
"Of course! Have a safe walk home," Fuu called, waving her arm frantically to Hitomi regardless of the fact that the customer was no longer looking her direction. Without any company, Fuu felt lonelier than ever – and it was at this time, when she was told to close shop during the early hours of dusk that she turned to her memories; when she turned to Jin and Mugen.A few moments after the sunset, there was an uneasy silence. Rolls of dirt and trash flowed down the forgotten paths; the streets barren and cold in comparison to the warm lighting that illuminated the small houses in the distance.

The stars provided a strange glow; a mysterious shine that equated the sunset in beauty, yet had an eerie quality that both unnerved and enticed the waitress. Quietly, she bonded the shutters together before making her way towards the entrance to the tea house that acted as her work place and home. "Another… uneventful day," she murmured to herself as she lingered by the entrance, hoping for something, anything that could break the rift in her chartered life.

Nothing. Just the hushed coo of the wind.

She turned to leave. A hand sudden gripped her shoulder.

It was reflex – that's all it was. Simple reflex. She'd learnt the hard way that being a woman in this day and age was impossible: kidnapping, brothels and insane men were all part of the job of being of the feminine gender. So she'd learnt that kicking or swiping at whatever touched her would serve her better than the timid façade that she adopted as a teenager and allowing that to happen. If they didn't want her… well… they shouldn't be grabbing young women anyway!

Twirling round she shoved her hand roughly against her assailant, eyes held shut as she used her gut instinct to propel her movements. She was thankful she hit something; the pliable underside of something. In the heat of her victorious hit, she couldn't contain her excitement and adrenalin rush.

"TAKE THAT Y'A JERK!" She yelled triumphantly, feeling the bony fingers that surrounded her shoulders ease up slightly. She heard the man groan in agony though the string of words that followed were muffled against the hand that covered his face.  
"F'luffin, blish," was all she could make out, but it wasn't as if she cared whether he said anything or not – until she was safe inside, she wasn't prepared to stop and stare.  
Lunging for the doorway her kimono flew out in waves around her; the loose sleeves swooshing along side as she made a desperate leap for safety. So near, yet so far. Fuu felt like she was extended in mid-air for minutes before she realized that the door was not coming any closer and her extended hand was simply grappling at thin air; stretching for something that was far beyond her clutching fingers. Her attacker had grabbed hold of her free arm while she turned, preventing her from making a run.  
That's when the panic settled in and Fuu reverted to her frantic struggles rather than focusing an attack on her capturer. Adrenaline surged through her veins and the world around her seemed to drift into a haze. All that mattered was that few steps that stood between her and the door. But her flailing didn't get her anywhere – all it managed was to make her more tired, and in the process, more panicky and erratic with her movements. It was a cycle that continued to drain her of her energy.

"LET – ME – GO!"

"Bl-udy he-wll. Cwazy blish."

Turning her head to the side, her eyes tried to focus on the person behind her. She couldn't see straight. Her body trembled and continued to wrestle despite the uselessness of it all. It took her a minute, but her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness that engulfed them, and the blazon stripes of blue that were tattooed on the wrist of the assailant, taunting her memories to reveal themselves. His hand continued to conceal much of his face, and Fuu did not dare call out _his_ name without proper recognition in spite of the temptation to do so. She had not said his name out loud of so long now: she only dare whisper it in her mind from time to time – and even that was difficult to do.

Fuu could tell by the way he was rubbing that she must have taken a good swipe at his nose – hence the appalling pronunciation of his words."W-who are you?" she asked, calmer now.  
"A broke custo'ma, you 'tupid girl," he replied, finally releasing his nose from his pincer grip and letting his hand drop to the side.

He didn't notice her – but Fuu recognized that face anywhere; that violent gleam in his eyes that burned like little jewels in the night light. Before she could stop herself she had halted her thrashing and whirled round into his grasp. Her arms were wide open and while she attempted to embrace him, she managed to slap her backhand against his chest in effort to reach his neck. She pulled back sheepishly as he recoiled from the second blow from the female.  
"Shit! D'you always abuse your customers?" he asked the girl, perplexed by her second attack. Nonetheless, as he glanced at her a second time he seemed to adjust to the fact that it was indeed… _her_. Fuu acknowledged the recognition in his eyes and beamed up at him.

"Mugen!"

"Bitch?"

Not exactly the right word, but she let it slip considering that she had just assaulted him… twice.

"You didn't recognize me, huh?" she stated proudly, believing that it was her noticeable change in curves that deceived Mugen.  
"Yea'. Dunno how I didn't though."  
She looked at him, perplexed. "What do you mean?"  
Yawning and rubbing a hand over the area of his chest that she slapped, he gave a nonchalant shrug. "I should'a known no chick could have such'a whiny voice as yours."  
Yup, that was Mugen alright; crude and vulgar as ever. Nonetheless his presence alone was enough to overshadow his faults, and Fuu again found herself inclined towards him, hoping for an embrace.  
Mugen backed away warily at her advances. He eyed her extended hand with renewed caution and she laughed at his response.  
"Would you like to come inside?"  
"That's what I want'd in the first place," he told her casually, retaining that façade of indifference that was characteristic of him when he did was no in control of the conversation. Fuu merely smiled and turned on her heels, trying with failing difficulty to control that twisting in her gut and the muscles that twitched at the corners of her lips. _He was here._

Fuu watched her companion contently as she placed the bowl of cold dumplings before Mugen.

"Sorry we didn't have anything else. The place closed down hours ago."

Mugen did not appear to hear her as he ravaged the meal in front of him, shoving stick after stick of dumplings into his mouth until his cheeks were bloated and his lips failed to close in around the amount of food. He looked the same – if not wilder that before. A dry patch of blood led from his nose to his lip as reminiscence of Fuu's attack, adding to his wild appearance. His hair was only slightly longer than before, yet it still defied gravity and grew upwards like horns from his skull. All in all, she was glad to see he was alright, but his ravenous appetite showed that he had seen some difficult times. Still, she was not about to question it now – at least, not directly. She couldn't bring herself to be so straightforward with her old companion; even after all they had been through. It had been three years after all – and time changed people.

"So, why are you all the way down south, Mugen?" she asked as passively as she could. Her nervous gestures – looking at her nails, tugging at the lining of her kimono – all revealed her anxious nature. She knew he hadn't come all the way down here to see her – no! Preposterous idea! The thought of it made her convulse, though admittedly, her cheeks flushed at the prospect.  
"Do shit," he said as he swallowed the remains of his meal. He wiped a hand over his mouth and coughed loudly.  
Fuu felt her heart sink. "Oh… so not to see me, huh?" she whispered before she could stop herself. Mugen could not interpret the disappointment in her voice and continued apathetically.  
"Fuck no. How'd you expect me to find you here? After you and four-eyes buggered off." He paused and took a swig of his tea to chase the food down. He grumbled madly and pulled a face, imitating Jin. "'Lets meet again' – what bullshit! How'd we s'ppose to meet if we haven't got a clue where he's at? Idiot."

"Maybe he believed fate would bring us together again."

"Pft. Whatever."

"Well it's true. Look at us now? Pretty hard not to believe its fate, huh?"

Mugen seemed to consider her words, but he did not voice his answer.

"So, why are you-"

"D'you have 'ny sake around here?" he said loudly, his voice bounding off the walls as he spoke. Fuu felt her heart give a jolt at the volume and her eyes darted to the small corridor that stemmed off into the recesses of the tea shop where the owners were sleeping. She was sure that they would fire her for sure if they caught her with a customer this late at night.  
"_Mugen_," she hissed. "Lower your voice!"  
"What?" He squinted at her. She was speaking in such a low voice that he could not interpret what she wanted.  
Fuu slammed her palm onto her forehead, cursing in an effort to release some of the tension. He was such a dunce when he wanted to be.  
"Not. My. Tea. House! Owner. And. Noise. Equals. Firing." She pronounced each word sharply, not daring to read Mugen's expression in fear of it being that same blank stare he always gave when she was talking sense to him.  
"Hmpf. You still waitress-ing for someone?" he said unkindly – but, quieter to Fuu's relief. Nonetheless, she did not let the response slide and acted defensively as she always had when criticized.  
"You still killing people for a living?"  
Mugen glared at her but he smiled wickedly up at her, enjoying her retort. "'Course! It's my gift."  
"More like a curse, Mugen! Don't you think a normal job… would be… sufficient," she trailed away, realizing that she was losing him again. Had to speak Mugen's language. "Something that makes… money and gets you… women?" she tried again. He understood, but deterred from the point completely.  
"W'ah? Who said I ain't got no women?" He upped the intensity of his voice again and Fuu fumbled to make amends to save her hide from both an offended Mugen and a very strict set of bosses.

"No – well. You… you're broke!"

"So you sayin' I got'ta pay for a woman to have one?"

Again, she tried to intervene, but he continued over her spluttering.

"I can have whoever I want, whenever I want, got that, girly?"

Fuu nodded eagerly; glad to see that his tirade came to an abrupt end with her submission. But with it, came an end to their conversation, and the two sat in silence for two painstaking minutes.  
"So… _have_ you got a woman?"  
"No," he said simply to Fuu's annoyance. He was the most infuriating person she had the misfortune to have met – he could push all her buttons, rub her the wrong way, and throw her mind into madness with just the smallest ministrations. And still, she enjoyed his company? Perhaps it was because she did not have anyone else that she was so accepting of his careless attitude, or that she genuinely had an interest in his character and admired him for his few virtues. Whatever it was it compelled her to stay calm and relatively collect in his presence.

"Then are you just passing by?"

"I got'ta job."

"What? You just said that you did-"

"Well, you don't count fightin' and killin' as a profession do you?"

"Oh… right. So you're still a sword for hire then?"

"Kind'a."

His vague answers were beginning to prickle Fuu's nerves. Her eyebrow twitched and her fingers ran repetitively over the surface of her kimono. In the light of his closure she examined him more closely. He wasn't as well as she had first interpreted.  
The dark rings beneath his eyes were prominent and the trace of a bruise was still visible under the bulge of his left cheekbone. He looked exhausted and Fuu felt herself longing to offer him some form of comfort – but for someone like Mugen, there was no telling what could ease his suffering. Fighting, booze and women was his entire comfort zone – and she certainly was not going to joust with him, give him liquor, or be his personal courtesan.

"Well, can at least know where you are headed?"

"Satsuma?"

"Satsuma!"

"What are you, thick? That's what I said."

She waved her arms elatedly and had a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Mugen watched her as if she was some form of entertainment though his controlled façade faltered as she let out a squeal of excitement.  
"You cumin' or what?"  
She blushed furiously and mumbled an incoherent retort. "Satsuma is _really_ close to here!"  
"You don't say?"  
"Oh, so that's why you're here!"  
"Clever little bitch, aren't ya?"

"Mugen," she chided, placing her hands against the even plane of the table. It dark wood shone in the dim light, silver like the streaks of Mugen's ebony hair as the moon's gentle rays bathed him in an ethereal light. His shoulders were hunched over, with his arms sprawled across the tabletop. The little sprouts of hair littered the tip of his chin and Fuu watched in mild interest as he scratched them when in thought. It would have been a cute gesture had it not been Mugen.  
Inclining herself towards him, she saw that her looming presence drew him from his musing.  
She was staring at him intently, and had it not been for his questioning look, she would have continued to hold his gaze.

"_Let me come with you_."

He stared back at her, unflinching.

* * *

**T WO . M I N U T E S . L A T E R**

* * *

"MUGEN!" she hissed, stamping her small feet against the floorboards to grab his attention. The tall vagabond was walking casually towards the exit, one hand deep in his pockets while the other waved back at her. 

"See ya, girly."

"Mugen, stop overreacting! You are taking it like I just proposed or something!" She dashed after him, clinging at his gi with both hands while digging the heels of her geta into the floor. "You are being such a baby!"

"I told you! I don't do shit with people, 'n you'd be a pain in my ass anyway. You can't fuckin' take care of yourself, 'nd I've got better shit to do than save your from brothels and fuck knows what." He continued without a moments pause, not even bothered by the extra weight that hung from his attire.

"YES! So that's why I need you to go with me! Do you want me to get raped and kidnapped? I will if I go alone!"

"Not my problem."

"MUGEN!" Fuu was glad as the sound of his metal geta pounding against the floor, stopped. She looked up to see Mugen glancing down at her from the corner of his eye, barely tilting his head in the process. She gawked up at him, her eyes beseeching. "Have you completely forgotten about _our_ journey?"  
He scoffed at her. "You living in the past, bitch – times change. I ain't nobody's lapdog, and I ain't gonna baby sit you unless I'm gettin' paid _stack_ loads." He turned to leave, but hesitated. "Why the hell d'you want to go to Satsuma so bad? What? You got 'a Samurai who smells of fish down there?"  
Why did she want to go? There were several reasons. The tea house was great, but she longed for adventure – she yearned to travel somewhere. It did not need to be as epic as the journey they made three years ago – but just… to escape, for a little bit, from this cycle of boredom. Mugen was just the perfect excuse for her to travel and to Satsuma - and Satsuma of all places! It was one of the more animated and modern places this side of Japan. Naturally, she could not let such an opportunity pass her by.

"Be-because! I-I have to go!"

He cocked a brow. Obviously he wanted something more.

"Besides," she began, clearing her throat and releasing Mugen's shirt from her grasp. She pressed her palms against her kimono, flattening the ripples in her attire and composing herself.

"You need money, and food, and I am sure as anything that you have no idea how to get to Satsuma-"

"I do know how," he growled, presuming that Fuu sought to undermine his intelligence. Her mind raced to come up with a more appealing prospect.

"Well-uh,- you don't know the secret way to get there!"

"…the secret way?"

She nibbled on her bottom lip, nodding furiously. She was improvising completely now. Sure, travelers had told her of this way that cut across much of the pathway, but it wasn't as if she had perfect mental map in her head or anything.

"Uh-huh. You get a lot of tips in this place – not all of them come in the form of money." She let out an exasperated sigh as she saw Mugen absorbing all the lies she managed to vomit out of her system. She wasn't a very convincing person, but it seemed that her companion was not interested in cross examining her at the moment.

"So, It'd get me there faster?""Yup. And I have some saved tips we could use to get there."

Mugen was scratching his little beard once again."Let me come with you."

* * *

**T WO . M I N U T E S . L A T E R

* * *

**

Fuu was bounding excitedly, leading the way to her room in the far corner of the tea house. It was far enough from the owners to allow her the liberty to do a little happy dance without the fear of being caught. Behind her, Mugen was listing the rules on his fingers, but she was barely listening – only making out the odd "bitch", "I'm not" and "saving your ass" at random intervals. Her mind was more preoccupied with other things – like envisioning what Satsuma was to look like. She voiced her enthusiasm as they walked, completely overpowering Mugen's listing.

"Gosh, I cannot wait! We'll leave first thing in the morning! This is going to be fabulous!" She turned the corner into her room. The small quarter was nothing to brag about, but it had a homely feeling that she had come to admire. A small vase of sunflowers were poised near a small window that overlooked the main street of the town, and the room was polluted by its sweet fragrance. The futon in the center was rather large and took up much of the room the quarter had to offer, but it still allowed room for Fuu to squeeze into the gap between that and a small rack which contained a few possessions.

"Its supposed to be a really nice place – everyone says so! Got amazing food – and theatre and arts! I have to see something there – and oh, lots of European goods, I heard! A few travelers told me some neat shops were they store foreign bits and pieces – they'll be expensive, but what isn't you know?" Fuu rambled on excitedly as she rummaged for the mattress on the bottom shelf, heaving it from a pile of pictures and junk that collected on top.  
"Its gon'na rain," Mugen said, though his comment when unnoticed by the waitress.  
"I bet they have lots and lots of food!" There was a thud behind her, but she was too immersed in her thoughts to acknowledge it. She pulled out the mattress with a heave of her skinny arms and glowed proudly at the fact that she didn't break anything else in the process.

"Okay! Now you can sleep on – MUGEN!"

As she turned round she saw the young vagabond collapsed on the top of her bed; sword discarded to the side of each arm which ran parallel to his body. His mouth was open and saliva already collected in a wet patch on her covers.

"Mugen!" she said firmly, reaching over and poking him with a finger. He didn't budge.  
Fuu grumbled and plopped herself down on the edge of the bed, staring down at the curled mattress in her hand.

"He owes me _big_ for this."

* * *

**N O T E S** : Couldn't leave the prologue all on its lonesome. It looked too bland!  
Either way, here is the second installment, or the first chapter, technically.  
Reviews are obviously, loved.


	3. Chapter Two

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Two - Carpe Diem  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : Nightime activites - nope, not _that_ kind of activity. Mugen finds himself confronted with a part of himself he had thought he had left behind.  
Perhaps a _conscience_ is going too far - but there is no denying that Mugen's brain is showing levels of activity that it hadn't shown before.  
Why the sudden change?  
That's for another chapter.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

Just as Mugen had said it would, the rains had come.The light shower of water on the roof was soothing; a cadenced mantra complimented by the man-made objects the droplets managed to hit.  
Outside, it formed murky puddles in the middle of the road. _Dirty, shallow puddles_, with silt bounding towards the surface as the droplets continued to splatter; splatter, and _splatter_.

The rains sullied everything. It made the pathways uneven and moist; made mud cling to the underside of their feet and shoes and squelched unattractively when trodden on. It caused the foundations beneath homes to shift as it sifts between the cracks in the earth, dampening the soil that rested under the houses and shops until it becomes wet enough to slide from underneath. The houses seem to moan and swing – Mugen can see it happening behind closed lids; see the destruction as walls crack and crumble; as hinges squeal in torture as homes are torn by a torrent of mud and water that rages through every nook and cranny.  
And it starts with puddles. _Dirty, shallow puddles_...

Splatter; splatter and _splatter_.

Mugen's eyes snapped open, glaring into the calm environment around him. His body was motionless with only the slight rise of the chest spoiling the static atmosphere that surrounded him.  
Once satisfied with his location, he seemed to relax. The violent glimmer in his eyes softened; his muscles lengthening from beneath the shadow of his crumbled gi. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the filling scent of air and the familiar aroma that wafted from the covers. He pressed his face closer into the mattress beneath. He smiled.

It smelt of her – Fuu. A girl he had not imagined he would have seen after they parted ways at the crossroads.  
Propping himself upwards, he groaned as his shoulders rolled in their sockets and the bone grinded agonizingly while he raised himself from his front to place himself on his behind. The futon yielded to his gentle movements, but Mugen, unprepared for the jitter the mattress made, gripped the covers between the gaps in his fingers. It had been far too long since he had known the comfort of a bed; and an even longer time since he had been imprisoned by the four walls of a room. Nonetheless, the matter he had been deprived of most wasn't as materialistic.  
Glancing down at the floor, he could see a small figure bundled beneath rolls of covers. Fuu's face peaked from the hem of her sheets; a content expression gracing her pleasing features. Mugen studied her hard; half wishing that he could remove the soft curve of her smile from her small face; half yearning to prod the pouting forms of her lips with his fingers. It was not so much a physical attraction that propelled his thoughts, but one of intrigue. They looked supple and soft without the traces of lines of cracks to mar their surface, and to touch them would reveal whether they were as smooth as they appeared.  
His gaze drifted to her eyes which had remained closed. Mugen examined them for minutes, only setting his sights on the outside world when he noticed her eyeballs roll from side to side under the eyelids, causing the lids to flicker fitfully. She was dreaming and from the smile, it must have been a good one.

The darkness that coated the window in a veil of black alerted Mugen to the fact that he had only been asleep for a couple of hours. A groan was caught in his throat and he turned to his side, holding his head upright so he could still see the crest of Fuu's head and the attractive tilt of her nose. His eyes drooped with fatigue as he continued to peer into inky gloom outside the window. The rain was pouring harder.

He listened to it; feeling every drop; envisioning how it would feel against his skin: cold and sharp, like a blade that did not cut. His brow twitched as he attempted to block out the drumming rhythm of the droplets; nonetheless, it was a part of him that could not be severed from his mind. He lived his entire life with rain on the islands; he knew when they would come before any of those Satsuma guards – he knew how long they would last, and how heavy they would fall, even before the sky was concealed behind rolling clouds of grey.  
His thoughts were interrupted by Fuu who sighed wistfully in her sleep. Glancing at her again, Mugen could not suppress his grin as he saw her lips twitching into another smile. He longed to venture into the depths of her mind – just to see how she dreamt; what she dreamt and why she dreamt it.

The tendrils of her hair frowned over the curves of her face, framing it nicely and while her longer hair suited her, it was not the only feature had better suited the young waitress.  
He _had_ noticed that she had grown – in more than one way – but had failed to alert her of his knowing. He couldn't give her that sort of satisfaction – knowing that he of all people detected how she filled out the gaps in her kimono quite nicely.  
At the notion, he frowned, and lent back onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head to create a makeshift pillow. His eyes slid shut automatically, as if closing himself off from the rest of the world – hoping Fuu, along with the comforts of the room, would fade into the crooks in his mind whether they would be sealed off from his current line of thought. Nevertheless, it was easier said than done. His other senses continued to distinguish the new luxuries from the old discomforts he sought to revive behind closed lids. Fuu's overwhelming presence was everywhere; the air was polluted by her scent, the covers tainted by her innocent touch, the air oppressed by her existence. He could not escape her.

"Stupid broad," he exhaled, nestling his head into his lean fingers. He didn't want her to come to Satsuma – not now, but regardless of how hard he tried to threaten her with his menacing presence, or offend her with his insults, she seemed determined to accompany him. Her little secret pathway – while beneficial for him – was more for his own pleasure than anything else. Mugen realised his intensions, nonetheless, he disguised his ideas behind his hard façade and apathetic veneer. Behind the security of his personal bubble, he sealed himself from the world that he had grown familiar with when travelling with Fuu and Jin – a world coloured by companionship, and loyalty; of sacrifice and security.  
The stray dog had a taste of something greater than what he had experienced as a loner, but it is not meant to be. He was certain of it. A person like him was only an infringement in society; his tattoos being a permanent reminder of this degenerate marker. Making his way through life as another clog in the system would force him to loose his identity and betray the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to – that he was born into. He couldn't live with that.  
Mugen had learnt along time ago that placing ones trust in others would only lead to remorse and regret.

He didn't need anyone.

Nobody _definitely_ needed him.

"God-damn it!" he hissed after a moments silence, though he dare not open his eyes. _Fuu you fucking brat_. He knew this assignment was dangerous for a dumb broad like herself to accompany him along the way. And without four-eyes around he wasn't sure if he could handle the pressure of having to be the one to save her – not that he didn't bare that burden three years ago.

_Not like he cared._

During his musing he knew he had drifted off to sleep and a strange calm seemed to grasp his limbs.  
It was dark, but he felt something there; an aura of sorts that he could not interpret. It was almost like with the crow men – they were there, just lingering on the fringe of his dreams like referees to some supernatural match. His opponent's presence manifested from out of no where, and in moments, Mugen was torn from the herbal scent of the tea room and the warm company of Fuu and thrust into this dark prison.  
The aroma of cherry blossom was prominent and the hint of laughter carried in the non-existent breeze; crackling and buzzing before it reached his ears as if it had pushed through barrier upon barrier of time to contact him. In his mind he could see visions; blurred interpretations of his past which flickered randomly in scenes.

He saw himself as a boy: knees grazed, blood staining his clothing as it sifted through the cotton.  
He saw himself as a teenager: staring out beyond the horizon, watching for the bizarre, rolling clouds of the ship's sails in earnest as if willing them to appear as a blimp on the curve of the earth's surface. Finally, there was a vision of that day at the crossroads. He had walked miles before stopping; finally pausing under the shade of an overgrown shrubbery. He had his freedom; he had his sword now only to himself. Mugen watched as he looked over his shoulder, frowning. _But he was alone.  
_  
The distorted scenes deteriorated and he was left with the canvas of darkness. The presence of his opponent had grown exponentially. It was like death itself had curled itself over his form; stroked bitter fingers down his arm and whispered incomprehensible words into his ear – words that made no logical sense, yet were coated by such meaning that Mugen felt his knees buckle from the potency that they attained.

He grew angry.  
He grew desperate and clawed at things he could not see; feeling nothingness sieve through his fingers with each swipe.

_"Mugen? You came…." _

The ex-pirate awoke with a start; his eyes wide and enlivened as they stared upwards at the ceiling. The early rays of light streamed through every opening and pore. Though dim in contrast to what it would be in an hour or so, Mugen groaned in surprised and clamped his eyelids shut.  
His chest was doused in sweat and his muscles were taught in preparation to fight – to fight what however, completely eluded him. "What the hell was that?" he asked himself, not sure whether he voiced his concerns or not and had woken Fuu up in the process. Either way, the bitch better get her ass moving since it was time for them to head off.  
He rolled back onto his side, rubbing a weary hand over his eyes to rid himself of the sleep that had settled into the nooks of his orbs. Regardless of the fact that he had escaped the creation of his dreams he had plunged back into a realm of unknown destinations and questionable outcomes.

Fuu. He peered over the edge of the bed. She was still curled under the covers.  
Mugen gave a sigh of relief though he could not understand what made him so anxious. Was he scared that she left him while he slept? No… he couldn't have been worried about something so trivial. Abandonment was not a particularly new story in Mugen's life, so the thought of her disappearing on his ass couldn't have triggered such concern. Perhaps it was the idea of those thugs that were supposed to be on his tail, trailing him here and kidnapping Fuu during the night. At the prospect, Mugen glanced out the window once more, running a hand through his untameable hair. They were out there _somewhere_ – he was sure of it.

Moving off the bed, Mugen ignored the clinginess of his gi to his damp torso. He tried to regain some sort of stealth as he removed himself from the futon; nonetheless, the loud groan of the floorboards ruined his furtive approach. Fuu's eyes fluttered open.  
"Mugen?" she whispered cautiously. Her doe eyes were peering up at him curiously – fearfully, even – as if she presumed he was making a dash for the exit while she still slept. For the first time since fate had brought him to her doorstep, Mugen relaxed his hard façade.  
"You goin' to get s'me supplies for the walk?" he murmured, feeling unusually proud when he saw her spring from the comforts of her bed at the question. She was so enthralled by his reply that it took her moments to realize how the cold crisp air differed from the warm covers she had been under. She wrapped her arms around herself.  
"So, we're really going?"  
"Looks that way," Mugen said. She was beaming up at him again; still a child behind her changing physique, easily amused and wonderfully simple despite her girly sentimentality. He gave his head a curt nod towards the door way, gesturing for Fuu to run off and gather some bits and bobs for their journey.  
She complied – though she hesitated before trotting over to the door. Once there, she paused, tilting her head back to watch her old companion.  
"Mugen?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Thanks for letting me come."

He didn't say anything. He preoccupied himself with his sword, unsheathing it slightly so that the resonance of metal blocked the faint remnants of Fuu's voice from his mind; long enough for him to hear the pitter-patter of feet as she scuttled off to do as she was told.

But…

He heard her...  
_   
He always did._

* * *

**N O T E S** : 'Kay - this is a short chapter, but I wanted to give readers a break from having to read too much stuff.  
Anyone confused? xD  
I am aiming to keep things fairly ambigious in this chapter - thus far little has been revealed.  
I P R O M I S E, the next chapter involves more explicit detail. This just pretty much revolves around the internal conflict he has regarding Fuu.  
Kindness is not part of Mugen's character for a reason - and even though he does care about Fuu, there are other issues  
that must be addressed to uncover the true reason behind Mugen's hostility.  
Coming up...

Fuu and Mugen set off for their travels. Fuu seems to be a suprisingly skill navigator despite the fact she has  
little clue where she is mean to be heading. In the meantime, she distracts Mugen with her questions, finding that a little bit of patience  
and some sake, helps ease the tension that has formed between them. 

Listened to "_Brothers in Arms_" by "_Dire Straits_" while I wrote this - but I don't think it heavily influenced my writing this time round. xD


	4. Chapter Three

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Three - Ardent  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : Things are not looking too bright. One day into their travels and the pair are at each other's throats. But whose fault is it?  
Is it Mugen's ambigious return or Fuu's inability to accept that person's past is personal for a reason?  
However, does Fuu's probing have a greater purpose? Are her actions justified? Traveling with a man whose wanted across Japan isn't the safest way to go  
so who could blame her curiosity for wanting to delve into Mugen's past when the offer arises?  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

Morning had settled over Japan, climbing through layers upon layers of mountainous clouds which acted like a bed-sheet surrounding the sun. The soft glow pierced through the thick film that concealed it; gracing the world with its light which burned like fire over the horizon while casting a gentle peach tinge against the far reaching plains of clouds.  
As Mugen and Fuu ascended up towards the West away from the sleeping village, they had the warmth of the sun on their backs its tender, rosy gaze to illuminate the rugged pathway.  
At random intervals, Fuu would stare back at her temporary home, pinpointing it amongst the multitude of rooftops that steamed in the heat of the rising sun. At each rising peak of their path, Mugen could see her footsteps slow to an agonising pace before she stopped. However, he didn't interrupt her despite the uselessness of her actions. Rather, he'd turn to watch her, peering at her silhouette through narrowed eyes as the light filtered around her; like something holy surrounded by a delicate radiance. At one point however, it appeared that she was not prepared to follow him. 

She was gazing down wistfully at the plateau of small homes and shops, observing as it awakened to greet the new day. The hustle of the streets was still too faint for them to be heard, though miniature, moving figurines could be seen by the duo. It was like watching a silent scene – a scene Fuu appeared to be having trouble leaving behind.

Mugen turned round, scratching the back of his head. "You can go back if you want, Fuu."

A fist was pressed close against her breast as she turned round. She looked very much alone, poised at the curve of the pathway; torn between leaving what she knew she had at her old teahouse and satisfying her desire to journey to someplace fresh that could stimulate her. Mugen could see her nod her head in acknowledgment; her small fist clenched tighter.

"I know. But I am not going to." Resisting the urge to look over at the town, she pushed herself forward till she was astride her companion. She was staring into the long, winding trail set out before them with a renewed aura of determination evident in her plain expression. "I've got to do this – and if not now, I know I never will," she told him before taking the lead, leaving Mugen for once, to trail behind.

Yet, such a formation could only last for so long, and before the afternoon sun had peaked overhead, Fuu was loitering at the back, pausing for every creature of piece of debris that interested her.

"Fuu, would you stop lookin' at every damn puddle you see?" Mugen had stopped pausing for her by this point in the journey and pressed on mercilessly; almost picking up his pace to entice Fuu to follow him. It never worked, but he did it regardless. "They're all the same n'yway."  
He couldn't comprehend her adoration for all things small and trivial. Sure, if she wanted to stare at some big-ass mountain or pause by a lake he could understand, but her fascination with insignificant things completely eluded him. However, he suppose it was part of her charm – her childlike simplicity and appreciation for all living things; big or small; ugly or beautiful, but when it came at the price of his time he was not willing to bend to her every whim and interest.

"Are not!" she said diffidently, removing her gaze from the puddle of water to glower at Mugen's back. She pouted innocently, her mind tempting her to stay put and allow her cohort to wander out without her until he was begging for her to keep up with him. Before she had fully examined the ploy, she was hurrying over the mushy dirty road, spraying mud and soot as her geta crashed down hard against the earth. Eventually, some of the sludge splattered against the hem of her kimono and she groaned as she saw the patch of brown against the pink of her clothing. She knew that Mugen would probably leave her behind if he could so there was no point in giving him the opportunity to do so.

"Great! Look what you did Mugen!"

Turning round, Mugen saw Fuu hike up her kimono in her hands, stretching the fabric that surrounded the obvious patch of dirt that stained her treasured garments. Her cheeks had flushed red and she was cursing under her breath, mumbling her complaints.  
Mugen merely cocked a brow in response to her attitude.

"I didn't do it."

"Ooh – yes you did! You made me run!""Your fault for not keepin' up girly."

"Well, if you had the manners to wait!"

Stubbornly, she gripped the hem of her kimono and kept it above the ground to avoid any more accidents. Fuu continued to scowl as she took over Mugen's place as leader, storming up ahead until her fury subsided and she was left standing sheepishly in the middle of a desolate road. Mugen was already heading towards her, hands intertwined behind his head while he strolled. Obviously, his leisurely gait was not fast enough for Fuu and she sighed exasperatedly.

"Come on! The sooner we get to Satsuma the better."

He continued to saunter, eyes closed as he basked in the heat of the noon sun.

"The quicker we get there, the sooner we can go our separate ways!"

At this, his pace had quickened noticeably, and while she had achieved her goal of wanting him to walk faster she felt even more dejected and annoyed than she had previously been. It just reminded her that it was not by Mugen's free will that she was on this trip with him, but through bribery and cheap shot comments that she knew would beguile him into letting her come. It hurt in a way she could not describe. She was painfully aware of Mugen's rude exterior and expected nothing less than for him to be unwelcoming to her, nonetheless she was hoping that after all they had been through he would have finally grown to like and accept her – if not that, at least treat her with respect. Perhaps she was aiming too high. Perhaps she deluded herself with the prospect of there being more to Mugen than he cares to reveal. Perhaps that day he came to save her – that final rescue – she had grown overconfident in his abilities and exceeded the mark when she believed he could actually _care_ for her.

"So why exactly are you going to Satsuma, huh?" she asked accusingly, preoccupied by how little he valued her company. "You haven't exactly told _me_ what you are going all the way there for."

"Hadn't asked me," was Mugen's reply.

"Because you had collapsed on _my_ bed before I had gotten the chance!"

"Well, there you go."

She huffed and folded her arms over her chest, allowing her kimono to flop back down to brush against her ankles.

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"I already told you – I got shit to do there."

"What? Like that job thing?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

She gave another little huff and glared at his back, noting how his eyes curled round the corner to peer back at her. His features tightened as he saw her incredulous look."What?"

"Pretty fishy-sounding if you ask me."

"Yeah? Well I ain't asking."

Fuu carried on regardless, patting her lower lips with an extended finger as she reviewed what she knew about Mugen. "Very… very fishy indeed considering how you are."

Mugen finally appeared interested in what she had to say and he slowed his walk to allow Fuu to catch up with him. Whether it was deliberate or he forgot that he wanted to distance himself from her didn't matter to Fuu – at least she had his attention.

"Wad'dya mean, _how you are?_"

"You can't keep a job Mugen – you are the _worst_ person to be a sword for hire!"

"Why you little-"

"You cannot take orders! It's not an insult – well, not really – it's just _how you are_! So the fact that you are going _all_ the way to Satsuma for a _job_ – which someone has _told_ you to do – is pretty unlikely."

Mugen snorted. He had to hand it to her – she was a perceptive wench. He just would have appreciated the idea of her having a brain more if she was, well, not Fuu and not a woman. Her analytical bullshit would begin to irritate him in due course – he knew that he would not be able to contain himself with her constantly yammering in his ear and criticizing his antics.  
For now, however, he was silent much to Fuu's delight.  
She was smiling smugly; triumphant at last! Fuu no longer condemned his story – for now, she had forgotten about how rudely he had dismissed her presence and openly suggested that her being there was more a burden than a comfort. For now, she would tentatively try to pry the truth from the loop holes in his closed persona by exploiting his lack of restraint and control which would consequently lead to him revealing more than he should.

"So why are you going, huh?

"Fuu…"

"What? You got some sort of covert thing going on down there?"

"Fuu!"

"Or have you got some mystery woman hidden in Satsuma?"

"Fuu – I – _what?_" Mugen was staring at her as if she had grown an extra set of arms. She had overstepped it with her final inquiry – however, it was not like she could control what she said. That was the trade off – revealing some of her concerns in the process of gathering information from Mugen. Only, Mugen never really picked up on the fact that her questions were subjective.

"_Have_ you?"

He raised his arm and Fuu instinctively stepped back in fear of him giving her a swipe. Rather, he pressed his hand to his forehead, wiping at the beads of sweat that had formed in the heat of the afternoon sun.

"Of course not you dumb broad!"

"No?"

"No!"

"Really?" she sounded hopefully. She perked up like some sort of puppy at the sound of food being scraped around a plate – optimistic that they were going to get a tit-bit off the table. If anything her bi-polar personality was scaring him. One moment she was trying her utmost to annoy him, the next she is meddling with his personal life. She was blowing hot and cold – he just wished she would choose one or the other before his mind exploded with the effort to tolerate her duel personality.  
In any case he wished she would stop bothering him with her inopportune questions. It wasn't as if he could tell her the true reason for his going to Satsuma. This was neither the time nor place to be discussing such matters, but he didn't see how he could manage with her badly thought out guesses.

"I don't get it though…"

"Huh?"

"Why don't you have a girl?" She blushed at her own question and stared the ground after it had been said. It was the implications of her asking such a thing – like she couldn't believe that someone like Mugen could be without a girl. Well, it was pretty easy to see why he _wasn't_ with anyone; but there was still not enough to make him completely unattractive to all women.

"You said it yourself back at the tea house – I ain't got 'nuff money to have a girl." He didn't sound angry as he reiterated what Fuu had said back at the village, nevertheless, she still felt bad that he had taken her comment to heart.

"Yeah… well…"

Mugen grumbled under his breath, arms swinging round in that monkey like way that was so characteristic of him, to rest against the back of his head. His muscles flexed in accordance, faded scars only slightly lighter than the tanned skin that surrounded it, marred his golden complexion and enhanced that lone wolf image that he had tried hard to uphold. Fuu's joyful tones reminded him of what it had been like nearing the end of their journey – after their final reconciliation when they were united through their search for Okuru and had all come to accept that fate would no always bring them back together regardless of their differences. He knew he had become more lenient during that time; that he was the most open he had been with people since his youth. He knew that Fuu _expected_ that same Mugen that was buried underneath his skin and while he didn't want to disappoint her, he knew that he would never fail at hurting those that trust him. He was simply not in the right state of mind to relax; to alleviate himself of his guard would mean putting them both at risk during this tremulous time – if only she could understand that.

"Hey Mugen?"

"Yo?"

"Have you ever _had_ anyone?"

"Fuu, why the fuck d'you wanna know this?"

"Its just a question Mugen – I don't know why you are so scared about giving me a straight answer."

That did it – the word she used. _Scared_.  
Scared… _scared_ – weak – cowardly. He was not scared of anything and as childish as it seemed, it was these trivial things that aggravated Mugen the most.

"I don't remember, alright!" he snapped at her, waving a finger aimlessly in front of her face as he spoke. Fuu was visibly shocked by his abrupt change in mood and just followed his finger with her eyes, making his rage seem all the more comical. He frowned and turned away from her, continuing his walk with renewed vigor. She followed toot-suit.

"Anyone?"

Mugen moaned and looked towards the scenery. He watched the way the leaves drooped with the weight of water that had collected on its broad surfaces; their leathery surfaces glinting in the light. Mugen became immersed in his thoughts, slipping into the recesses of his brain where things were becoming unhinged; memories leaking from that air-tight compartment that was his mind. Her laughing resonated in his head. Vague… and so soft that he was sure it was as frail as a whisper that would die if he didn't hold onto it. He hadn't heard such a sound for so long and it was strange that now of all times, should it choose to confront him.He was unable to mask his concern, and Fuu read his features like he was an open book.

"Mugen?" she whispered forlornly, pushing back part of her fringe which slipped from the hold of her bun.

"Hmm?" he answer her subconsciously, half absorbed in his dreams, while the other saw her slip in front of him, sharing his line of sight of the open plain.

"What was she like?"

"She smelt of cherry blossoms," he said. With the realization of what he just admitted, the voice in his head dissolved into silence and left Mugen to ponder the gravity of what he had just announced. He turned angrily to Fuu, but she was no longer by his side. Rather, she had hurried up along the path, hands pulled behind her back. He had envisioned that she had been very pleased with herself; a wide grin teasing the corners of her lips.

Rather it was quite the opposite. She was smiling widely; teeth bared in a painful grimace.  
She had gotten what she wanted again – but greater knowledge of Mugen seemed to be dampening her sprits. Everything he told her made her heart cringe and her body ache. But she knew she wouldn't be able to stop now – she couldn't stop until she knew everything, regardless of how much it was going to hurt her.  
She was addicted to pain. She was addicted to the hurt Mugen would faithfully deliver to her.

* * *

"C'me on Fuu, you are falling behind!"

He sounded frustrated but he truly was beyond the limitations of the word meaning – he _owned_ frustration, if anything at this point.  
Fuu despite his protests had ignored everything he had said: he had sworn at her, pulled and pushed, even plead with her – Gods he had offered the bitch a piggy back ride if it meant the end of her crawling. They had barely managed to walk anywhere since they afternoon chitchat due to Fuu's constant slowness. But it wasn't just that.

She hadn't said one thing since his awkward confession; not even whispered a complaint despite the fact he could see that something was wrong. That, above the slowness, above her bitching and moaning made him irritated.

It wasn't like he _cared_ about her or anything.And he sure as hell wasn't going to sacrifice what little shred of dignity he had left in him to stoop to her sentimentality and ask what the hell was up with her. He'd hope that he had learnt everything he needed to know about Fuu - she was half pig and girl; was a klutz and a maddening pain-in-the-ass at times.  
So why'd he tolerate Fuu?  
He asked him that many a time, during and even after their journey. Generally they had their qualms – fighting over food, about her whining about food… about him buying so much food that they couldn't afford to pay the bill: little things like that.  
Nevertheless, in her flaws were some of her redeeming points. He'd come to admire the fact that she was a sassy little bitch when she wanted to be; heck he even liked the fact that she was half pig and could consume an entire village worth of food, but he would never admit it to her, or anyone in fact. How could he when he concealed the truth from himself?

"I am serious Fuu. We ain't getting' to Satsuma 'ny time soon with you coverin' the rear. It takes 'bout two weeks to get to this place from 'ere."

He finally saw a glimmer of life in those eyes, sparking up beneath the brilliant brown of her irises as Mugen's whinging finally broke through the barrier. However it wasn't one of those naïve stares that he had hoped to received from Fuu – no, not this time. If looks could kill he would have been six feet under.

"How'd _you_ know how far away Satsuma is?"

"Its-"

She didn't wait for him to deter from her question.

"Have you been to Satsuma before?"

Mugen gritted his teeth. He despised her like this – prying and being an obnoxious brat. But, she was moving again – at least that was something.  
Maybe he would have to play her game in order to get her ass moving a little faster than the pace of a snail.

"Couple of years back."

Within seconds Fuu was right up against Mugen, her petit, five-foot four frame, frail and insignificant in contrast to his towering form which seemed to curl around her like the mouth of a cave. Her cheeks were puffed out as she exhaled; brows knitted at the centre as she continued to gape at her travel companion. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something raw and hurtful but couldn't bring herself to do so, residing to a gentler and more contained level of voice.

"Why are you hiding the fact that you have been to Satsuma from me?"

"What?! I just told you I had been, you crazy bitch!"  
He just couldn't understand her. What did she want from him? He was letting her accompany him to Satsuma, and hadn't even tried to provoke her and yet, she was finding even the smallest reason to start an argument. He waggled a finger at her. "Besides, it ain't none of your business where, who and what I've done.

She tried to batter his finger from her, but missed. Her cheeks flushed hotly at her lack of coordination. It was a reminder to them both to the fact that without a bodyguard to escort her that she wouldn't have lasted this long in the big wide world.

"Could very well be! Knowing you, you're probably in it for some stunt you pulled back when you were a kid!"

He knew what she was reminding him of – those guards from Satsuma that kidnapped solely to flush out Mugen. Surprisingly, he felt a pang of regret as she said that though it was cleverly masked behind his impassive veneer. He knew it had been his fault which was why he had come to rescue her in the first place – she was under his care and responsibility, and while ninety per cent of the time she had managed to screw herself over, he had promised to keep her safe. The fact that that final kidnapping had come about due to his own mishaps however, just made his task of saving her more poignant.

"Whatever. You're the one that wanted to come so bad. Should'a thought about that before you left!"  
He hobbled off, and to his surprise Fuu remained by his side, keeping up with his pace.  
"And besides - what the heck are you doing here?"

"Huh?"

"You ain't doing a very good job of taking us to your 'secret passage' to Satsuma are ya? Your end of the bargain was to show me how to get there, remember?"

That shut Fuu right up. The colour drained from her face and her eyes widened ever so slightly as she recalled what she had told Mugen. Had he not been basking in his verbal victory over Fuu, he would have had the sense to realize that she had little idea about where she was heading.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" she murmured, eyeing Mugen with disdain.

"What a better time to start repayin' your end of the agreement." He stepped back and extended a hand towards the endless dirt road that lay out before them, disappearing behind the dip of a hill top that rested on the boarder of the horizon.

She gulped and fidgeted with her kimono. Her childish mannerisms were apparent in her unconfident stance, but Mugen – conceited, conspicuous Mugen – brought out the need to prove herself. Hands on hips, she nodded and tried to recall what exactly those travelers had told her about Satsuma.

_Head straight down the path until you come to a forest and… _

That was all she could recall – not very promising, but at least she could say something to Mugen to compensate for her lack of cooperation earlier.

"We've got to get to a forest opening first."

"A forest?" Mugen looked surprised and glanced up and out into his surroundings. There was about one tree per mile from what he could see – and from his brain he could not recall ever seeing more than three trees in one area at a time, let a lone some dense expanse of forest.

"Uh, yeah? Course," she said in a 'matter of fact tone'. She waddled off and reclaimed her stop at the front. "But we are not going to walk any more."

"Why the hell not?" Mugen spat; his anger surging for the surface because he could not see any valid reason to stop their journey and because the brat had stolen his place at the front and assumed command. And Mugen hated nothing more than to have to obey anyone – especially not some cheeky eighteen year old.

"Mugen, it's almost sunset!"

"Wow, you don't say?"

"It's dangerous to travel at night! The best solution is that we shack up somewhere off road until morning. Besides, my feet hurt and I haven't had anything to eat since lunch."

"Fuu that was only two hours ago!"

"Precisely. A growing girl like me has to feed herself _constantly_."

Mugen watched as Fuu began trailing off the main pathway, making a beeline in the direction of a shaded area beneath the sparse growth of shrubs. The soft-dying sun made her pale skin radiate, emphasizing the whiteness in parts while casting dark shadows across the crevasse and dips of the contours of her face. She did have a point – traveling at night was dangerous, but he would have preferred to have announced that.  
Kicking at the graveled path, he hovered on the spot before following.

A bit of food didn't sound too bad.

* * *

It had taken longer than expected to prepare a safe shelter for the night. Fuu was right in taking them off the road when she did or else Mugen would have had to search for pieces of wood for a fire in complete darkness. Naturally, Mugen was still annoyed that Fuu had predicted this lack of light before him and her logic overshadowed his expected pragmatic behavior.  
Rolling out the pouch that Fuu carried with her, the ex-pirate gave an appreciative grunt as he collapsed onto the thin surface of the cover. He hadn't realized but he was quite tired – he had not t slept particularly well last night and he was praying that he would be out like a light before Fuu worked up the nerve to annoy him some more before the day was done.  
Discreetly, he looked over at her. His vision of the teenager was blurred by the scorching flames of the fire that licked and danced from the confinements of their wooden reserves, polluting the air with rolling clouds of smoke. Fuu's face peaked from behind the fire as she nestled into her own cover though she didn't look as pleased as Mugen when she tried to lie down. He could hear the squelch of soft mud as it gave way from underneath her.

"Comfortable, porky?"

Fuu shot him a cold glare as her small hands were played out beneath her, trying to even out the spot of land she chose to rest on for the night. Although the sun had dried most of the rain and the ground and absorbed as much moisture as it could, there were obviously going to be damp patches now and again. Fuu just managed to pick the worst spot.  
Mugen reached out and raked with soil with his fingers. It was dry.

"You know, you could just move over-"

"I'm fine, thanks," she rasped, plopping herself down into a sitting position and reaching out for her little collection of goodies. She had consumed as much as Mugen would allow her while he was preparing the fire, but she was already rummaging for something else to eat.

"_Porky_," he warned, extracting himself from his mattress and tottering over to the package of food that Fuu's hand seemed permanently attached too. She began munching on a cracker, grumbling with a mouth full of food with pieces of residue clinging to her upper lip.

"I thought you didn't like skinny women," she reminded him, a threatening snarl reverberating in her chest as Mugen's hand drove into her collection of food, fishing for the familiar texture of a sake bottle. He gripped the neck of the jug and yanked it upwards, almost hitting Fuu in the face with the underside.

"Yeah, but fat chicks ain't much better."

Fuu looked ready to protest as Mugen uncapped the container of alcohol before taking a long swig from the bottle. Of course they didn't have any cups and it was not like she drank sake, but she would have preferred if her companion didn't drink right from the bottle.  
Instead of wandering back over to his bed-rest, Mugen placed himself next to Fuu, joining her hand amid the contents of her bag to search for the odd cracker. They hadn't been this close for so long that his presence felt alien to Fuu. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin and see the smaller scars that littered his arms which she had not been able to detect from afar. His hand bumped against hers at random intervals. She shivered and his frosty stare turned to her.

"You cold?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

"Oh. Okay."

She rolled her eyes. What was she expecting him to do or say? Wrap her in an embrace; throw an arm around her shoulders to share some of that warmth? She'd see pigs fly before Mugen would do anything so generous of kind-hearted.  
Coughing to ease the silence that had developed between the two, she finally tore herself from the food and placed her hands neatly over her thighs.

"Mugen… I think we need to talk?"

He turned, mouth open as he engulfed cracker after cracker. "Bout what?" he said, the contents of his mouth narrowly missing the tips of Fuu's hair as it spewed from his lips.

"I would really like to know more about why you are going to Satsuma."

Mugen looked disappointed – probably hoping that she was announcing her early departure from his presence.  
He swallowed the remains of his food and chased it back with another gulp of sake.

"Fuu – when we get there you are goin' to stay the hell away from me, right?"

"What? No! Why'd you want to get rid of me so quickly?"

What had she done to make him detest so much that he couldn't bear to be near her outside the realm of their agreement. It was a precarious notion to think that three years ago had come and go and Mugen erased every memory that they shared through out the course of their trek to find the Samurai who smelt of Sunflowers.

"Because I've got a job to do! I can't do that and have to worry about saving you from some wacko, alright?"

She looked startled. "So you are worried about my wellbeing?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

That was as good enough a yes as any. Fuu felt some closure; nonetheless, it was overshadowed by another question that had plagued her thoughts since their afternoon conversation.

"So you are not going after some girl? This is like, a proper mission for you?"

Mugen started pouring the sake down his gullet, trying to force as much as the liquid down his mouth before it began to overflow around the edges of his lips. He spluttered at his first effort to respond to her, finding that he was still swallowing sake when he attempted to counter her question.  
"Let's get one thin' straigh' girly – I am not going to Satsuma for some chick," he hissed, squinting as he spoke, the flames of the fire burning his eyes now that his much needed relaxation time had to be sacrificed to drill some points into the thick head of his cohort.

"But – but you said that the person you were thinki-"

"I was NOT thinking of anyone, Fuu. Fuck sake!"

"Fine! Then who is the cheery blossom girl," Fuu seemed to have gotten her spark back and forgot her wish to keep their discussions quiet and reserved. So much for that plan.

The vagabond's lower lip jutted outwards as he watched her. His vision had somewhat faltered and Fuu's kimono had lost the strange sunflower pattern and was merely pink with some white splotches. In the light of his lack of sobriety, he couldn't bring himself to throw something at her to shut her up – though he would like to. Instead, he insulted her in his mind while he gathered his train of thoughts.

"I don't really care, you know. Just tell me – how the heck did you meet a girl and _remember_ anything about her – what was her name – why you don't… Mugen?" The questions just flowed from her lips. She was too far gone to control herself – drunk on the idea that she might find something out about Mugen.  
She could not even stop when Mugen got up to move from her, waddling back to his mattress across from hers. He was obviously not in the mood to talk to her, and she stared at him fearfully as he rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed and Fuu would have presumed he was asleep had it not been for the lopsided grin on his face."Mug-"

"That bitch died a long time ago."

Fuu didn't sense that there was any real caring in his voice, but she couldn't allow her heart to let go of the matter without knowing more. Leaning forward, her lips fluttered as she attempted to form words.

"Yea', but-"

"No more buts Fuu, just turn the hell over and sleep some, will ya?" This was the first thing he had said all night that was completely devoid of emotion. He'd rather he sounded angry with her; it would have at least fueled her need to argue with him… but instead he just sounded normal; completely unMugen and it scared her more than any tantrum or rage he could have thrown at her.  
She watched cautiously as he placed above his head before turning his back towards her and even though she could still see him, she felt more alone than ever. She nestled herself back onto her mattress, gazing into the darkness around her in fear. The warmth of the fire dissolved as the cold uncertainty gripped her limbs.

As if reading her emotions, Mugen had flipped onto his other side.  
"I'll stay awake, 'alright?"

She nodded, however didn't close her eyes, but the longer she stared up at Mugen, the more the comforting warmth returned to her body, cradling her into a pensive sleep that consumed her the moment her eyes finally fluttered shut.

Mugen, despite his word had difficulty keeping himself awake. He rocked from one side of his body to the other, residing to stare into the heart of the fire; where the wood burned and charred and the amber glow of the splintered branches gave life to the looming tendrils of flames. His eyes grew heavy, and again, there was the eerie sensation that he felt back at the tea house, whispering softly into his ear and tempting him into the dark of his dreams.

* * *

**N O T E S :** First of all, thank you to everyone that has reviewed! I really appreciate your comments and hope that I will be able to retain your  
interests as the story progresses!  
And I am so glad that so many people have put me on story-alert! xD  
The pressure is mounting.

-sweat drop-

Now, we are getting somewhere!  
Tensions are on the rise. Fuu knows that something is wrong with Mugen despite his protests. He is going to Satsuma because of a job -  
but what sort of job would force this outlaw to go to the ends of Japan? She may not be a genius, but Fuu is no green-horn. Eventually, things will be revealed to her - she can feel it.

I listened to a lot of final fantasy music while I wrote this:  
_'Yuna's Ballad'_ and _'Blue Plains'_ being the main two that were on repeat while I wrote.

Coming up...

_Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens_.

- Carl Jung -

We take a look inside Mugen's head and learn how the foundations of childhood actions have impacted Mugen beyond his understanding.  
He has undermined the happenings of his past for too long and his overcrowded mind is flooding his senses with things that Mugen has neglected since his childhood days. Such powerful memories cannot be contained for such extended periods of time - and now, the fates have decided that it is time for the vagabond to awaken, and learn that the past is not _just_ the past - it paves the way to the future.  
And maybe this cherry-blossom girl is the key to his realisation...  
[Yush you read right! Kid-Mugen is coming up! xD


	5. Chapter Four

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Four - Remembrance  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : Dreams have all got to mean something - especially dreams that reiterate things of the past.  
What does it mean though? Mugen is not the type to have mixed feelings about what he has done - heck, his moto practically revolves living for today  
and not dwelling on previous mistakes. Obviously his mind thinks otherwise...  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

"Fuck'n bastards." 

Mugen kicked at the graveled shoreline; his bare feet colliding with the jagged edges of crumbled shells. He felt it slice at his skin yet the sharp pain that coursed through his toes seemed to ease his temper. The shredded rags of his hakama peaked beneath his oversized top, curling around the skinny waist and jutting bones; the torn edges revealing the tightly formed midriff of the thirteen year old and the soft golden complexion that coloured the length of his body.

The boy glowered in the direction of the port, watching as the prison guards maneuvered themselves into formation along the shoreline as they greeted a small fleet of transport boats carrying the island supply of imported goods. "Those bitches are more criminals than we are," he murmured under his breath, watching as the ornate vessel docked; its large hull battered by the small waves that churned by its side. There was no doubt there was a bounty of food and wealth that would only partially be given to the starved residents of this island – nonetheless, the majority would go to improving the lives of rich landowners and high ranking Satsumas that were posted at this site. The thought of those outsiders nibbling on delicacies that he could only envision caused him to cringe in disgust. One day – one day he promised himself that he would get off this piece of shit Isle.

It was certain to be a promising morning. Few clouds littered the cerulean sky and the ocean calmly lapped at the island's shore, tracing the outline of the sand as it rolled onto the uphill slab of sand propelling new shells and creatures from its foamy grasp. Mugen knew better.

He grinned viciously as he noted the fine uniforms the guards adorned, reveling in the fact that when the rains came in the evening that their pretty little dresses would be tarnished by the bitter winds and pounding rain.  
"What retards. Can't even guess when it's gon'na rain," he chided, finding himself both repulsed at the sight of the island captors as they cantered about anxiously as a plank was lowered from the boat. He had seen this time and time before: the ritual where bags of sugar, rice and vegetables would be tossed from the ships and dragged into the markets where they would be distributed to people like him; outcasts, vagabonds, criminals – take your pick: in the end they were all dirt.

Nonetheless, the ritual did not continue as it regularly did. Scattering hoards of Umanokami scuffled around the port gate in worry; a few soldiers craning their necks left and right in search of something, or someone. It was apparent who that person was once the clouds of dust that surrounded the entrance to the dock had cleared and the scattered guards had arranged themselves in accordance. Suzaku wasn't a particularly rare site on the island. The Captain of the Guard had become a familiar vision against the plains of sand and the ruins of the small penal colony. Unlike many previous Konoe that had been summoned to this island to see to it that shipments were all in order and that its captives did not try and escape, Suzaku seemed to preferred to interfere and intervene rather than to sit back and enjoy the show. Nonetheless, Mugen did not have respect for a man who dressed like an absolute poof. His elegant haori and matching white haori-himo was far too elaborate and impractical for the small boy to accept as convenient wear in his home climate. Rather, he preferred to stick his tongue out at the commander; partially to suit his thirst for all things daring yet still keep himself from being whipped as the distance disguised his actions.

The commotion that unfurled before him came to a brief halt and the child found himself crouching down against the crumbled boulders that littered the stretch of beach. Aside from the guards and him, the land was barren of criminals. This side of the island was accessible for criminals, but it was generally not a place you enjoyed being around if you had been on the wrong side of the law. But Mugen needed to be here. Shipments were worth a lot here and Mukuro was expecting him to bring something back that was valuable. _Asshole_.  
However, the area closest to the dock and warehouse was dominated by the guard's settlements; small quaint cabins that were lavish in comparison to the huts that they were forced to occupy. Unsurprisingly, the largest was Suzaku's place; a garrison-like manor that marred the simple beauty of the natural landscape; a stone fortress amid the thick growth of the woodland shrubs that grew in abundance around further away from the cultivated land.  
Still, despite the lack of familiar faces, Mugen was determined to find out what had enticed the interests of the guards so readily that they forgot that punishing convicted felons was their main priority.  
He ran his calloused finger tips over the worn surface of the bolder, his tuffs of shabby black hair peaking from the curve of the rock while he propped himself onto his knees. What he saw surprised him.  
Amongst the hoard of guards that safeguarded the plank that linked the boat to the dock, the small face of a girl peaked over the helmet-clad heads. Mugen acknowledged that his body had involuntarily curled itself over the boulder to better see the newcomer.  
Her hair was short; the strands at the front of her dark mahogany locks concealing part of a rosy blush that played over the ample curves of her cheeks, now pressed against the soft arc of a doll's face. Her eyes were lowered to the ground, the sliver that opened masked behind a veil of thick lashes. She was young for certain; no older than Mugen and yet she carried herself with air aura of sophistication that unnerved the orphan – there was little differentiation from her to the porcelain ningyō she cradled in her small hands – beautifully done, yet lifeless all the same. He saw her glance up anxiously, fingers tightening like a limber vice against the plush underside of her toy as she surveyed her surroundings with the hesitancy that only a child could convey when leaving the warm familiar embrace of a parent before being thrown into the recesses of an unknown world.

Suddenly there was a spark; a glimmer of recognition as she peered into crowds. She was staring at Commander Suzaku pleadingly before her lips parted, saying words that Mugen could not hear – though it is unlikely that a boy with his upbringing, could understand. With an unexpected flair of power, she darted down the steps of the plank. Her arms were thrown out in welcome as she rushed to t he aged man, with the pitter patter of her shoes resonating through the sudden hush that had befallen the dock. Mugen watched in mild confusion as the small girl gripped the leg of her father, though soon enough his gaze was attracted to something more interesting than the kid herself.  
The thief's eyes glimmered maliciously as he eyed the sparkling pendant that was looped around her neck.

"I bet somethin' like that would get me a whole lot'a food from the rations," he mused, reveling in the idea of filling his stomach before the image of Mukuro immerged into his head. His grin faltered. There was no doubt in his heart that he despised that sorry son-of-a-bitch and one day he would have the pleasure of wringing his fat neck… but until he was certain that he could fend off every enemy without the help of that bastard he knew there was little point in ruining what he had in his life. Besides, Kohza kept him sane. The brat gave him some comfort in this god-forsaken island – and even that small sense of security was enough for him to bottle his rage and focus on the prize. Besides, regardless of whose command he was following he still needed food. Perhaps he would vent his anger by spending more on himself than he would his childhood friends.

Reclining onto his haunches, he scratched his nails over his non-existent goatee, taking one last look at the girl that was still content to embrace the leg of her father, oblivious to everything around her.

"This will have to be done later." He grunted a sound of approval at his own statement, running his thin fingers through the wild sprouts of his black hair while he collapsed back onto the sandy bay with sigh of contentment. He knew this was risky. People – even criminals and thieves rarely wandered into the premises of the Satsuma guard, but the dangerousness was what appealed to Mugen the most. The idea of him getting caught was part of what drove his desire to be bad. He wanted to be top in this shit hole – even if it meant being the best of the worst. His only real way to prove that was to steal, kill and wreak as much havoc as he could during his stay.  
"Well," he scoffed. "There is no point following." He closed his eyes and curled his hands around the back of his head as a cushion, barely acknowledging the smooth drone of horse hooves as the guards prepared themselves to leave the dock.

_All I have to do is look for the biggest damn house on the island._

* * *

The constant drumming of rain against the broad leaves of the forest was deafening – a perfect setting for the thief-in-training. Mugen could barely contain his excitement as he crept through the thick canopy of the trees, propelling himself further into the recesses of the Satsuma settlement. His skinny arms were taught; his brown skin no longer tanned, but white against the silver glow of the moonlight that peaked and vanished behind the thick cirrus clouds.  
The lanterns had been lit and paved the streets in gold. Little cobblestone paths looked like disfigured seeds as it stemmed to each small opening of the shacks of the guards; evidently becoming larger as he climbed further north along the tree-line.  
The rough bark of the branches felt smooth against Mugen's hands as he crept closer to his target; the house in question only a few yards. It was strange to see manors with two floors, with winding balconies that stretched along the top story rather than along the ground. Although he had been a resident on this island for all his life, he had never been so close to this section of the island. 

He was used to the rolling fields of high grass of the underdeveloped fields where the prisoners were forced to work; where their bones littered the dirt roads and their corpses rotted in the soil. He felt a twinge of sickness growing in the pit of his stomach and he forced himself to pause over the stone wall of the captain's house. His sounds concealed by the patter of rain and his movements disguised by the rustling trees, the guards that acted as sentries were oblivious to the young boy that stalked them in the trees. Their expensive attires were soaked to the bones though the guards' main concern was their katanas that were sheathed and attached to a strap round their backs.

"Hate this god-damn rain," one of them yelled, backing as far as he could into the wall as he could for shelter against the eternal rain fall.

"It's always like this in this shit hole. Rains every-fucking-minute," the other answered while swiping his hands over the cotton of his undershirt. "It is damn near impossible to guard anything here – no one can see a thing in this weather!"

_Serves you bastards' right!_ Mugen grinned spitefully.

"And _now_," he continued, whispering to his cohort. "We got the boss' brat to look after." They nodded in agreement and dislike, apparently bothered by the presence of a little girl more than the pouring rain.

"She's doesn't even look fully Japanese, you know."

"You shouldn't say things like that-?"

"Look at her eyes, Ryu. Those ain't Japanese eyes…"

Mugen arched a brow at the comment. What did he mean? Not Japanese? He didn't let the thought bother him as he continued his trek closer to the long stretch of balcony, suppressing all thoughts of the outside world. He would need all his concentration to pull this off.  
The thick branches of the tree rolled over the wall, curling off inches away from the balcony into a downward spiral – perfect for the small boy who leapt off the tree skillfully onto the hollow wooden planks of the veranda.  
The boy felt his adrenaline course through him as he made a hasty dash towards some of the wooden shutters; quick to hide beneath one as he listened for signs of movement within.

"Sir."

"Yes?"

"The men do not doubt your skills as a leader… but we are worried about your daughter?"

Mugen froze. "Suzaku?"

"My daughter?" He sounded surprised, yet expectant all the same.

"Yes sir. It is just… we feel that your daughter would be better off staying on Satsuma with-"

"She has no one else in the world, now. Her mother is gone, and all she has left is me."

"But sir-"

"Do not worry. It is not permanent. She will be schooled soon. She will only visit it for a few weeks at most before returning to Satsuma…"

There was a profound hush; nothing but the sharp drumming of water on leaves and Mugen's shallow breathing.

"Understood, sir."

Up ahead, Mugen heard the snake-like rattle of shutters as they broke against their frames. His heart pounded against the confinements of his chest, bursting; burning with the force of each pulse. But he continued. He had to.  
He followed the sound of the rattle, one hand placed against the grey walls while the other reached for a rusted tanto that was concealed beneath his shredded robes. Soft candle light streamed from the ajar window, flickering now and then as the shutters trembled against their hinges. From beyond the terrace door, Mugen could hear the faintest thud of footsteps, though they soon faded into the night.

This was his time to move!

Mugen scrambled towards the shutters, pausing for an instant as he took time to see whether this assumption was correct. His eyes narrowed into slits as he peered through the shutter holes, making out the vague outline of a futon and a small table with a stool pressed underneath it. But it was a sudden glimmer on top of the desk that made Mugen's heart race. There it is. He took a shaky breath before he pulled back the shutter, the pouring rain against his back dissolving into a comforting pitter patter.  
The room was big – bigger than his entire hut, though it wasn't really an adequate measure of how large it was. Huts here were pieces of shit topped with straw. Nothing more.  
But this was the closest to luxury that the boy had come to. The wooden floors were polished so that the lights themselves gleamed off the mahogany floorboards, glimmering still as puddles formed where his feet were planted. Mugen, who had had to sleep on the floor for his entire life, had only seen a futon once aside from now. Yet the broken down object he had seen hauled off a dock earlier in his life, looked comical and cheap in comparison to this one.

To the far right of the bed there was another burst of color in what would be a dull room. Mugen had noticed the odd scent as he walked in. The scent of flowers – pink flower's whose petals were broad and blossomed outwards with their tips finally curling off in the way a fountain would with its water. He was certain he had smelt the aroma of those flowers before, but with the looming scent of the rainfall overhead, he could barely distinguish it against the crisp smell of rain.

Mugen inched closer. He looked from the doorway to a desk. Sure that no one was about to burst into the room, he set his sights on the target. The pendant was small, but as he wrapped a finger around the chain that held it, he grinned happily at its weight. _Heavy means pricey_. Mugen did not spend much time admiring the shape of the pendant – in fact; he hadn't paid the faintest attention to what it even looked like. He was distracted by a sudden squawk behind him.

Grasping his tanto in one hand while the other gripped the necklace, Mugen swiveled round on his heels, expecting a fleet of guards to be on his tail. Rather, he was met by a large cage with a small parakeet locked within. Not a guard, but it was sure as hell loud enough to call one.

"Shit. Stupid bird," he hissed through tightly clenched teeth. He waved his arms furiously, but the parakeet seemed unperturbed. Its plume was rich with texture; glittering with proud crimsons with greens stitched across the lining of his beak. Beady eyes held an air of intelligence and awareness – something the boy hadn't thought to see in such a useless creature; and yet, this fiery persona was glaringly obvious in those two bottomless pools. It squawked again, thrusting its chest forward with a heaving flutter of his wings. This time, he did not remain silent and bawled with such verbosity that Mugen wondered why God would give such a set of lungs to such an annoying creature.  
As the fowl's calls became more desperate, Mugen paced back the way he came. But he was too late.  
Footsteps sounded across the hallway outside the room and the criminal could make out the vague outline of someone propped outside the screen.

"Why are you making so much noise, hototogisu?"

The Ryukyuan felt a lack of warmth in his body when generally he would feel his blood course with energy at the prospect of a fight. But seemingly, his body was giving up its innate instinct to battle. Rather, at the sight of the young girl he felt his joints go rigid and blood run cold. She was smiling thoughtfully as she pushed the screen back with her small hands, watching the little bird with an appeased look despite the amount of noise it made. Mugen made a chocked gasp and the girl sudden turned to him.  
She was obviously in casual wear, clad in a plain white jinbei that curled down to her knobby knees. At first it was difficult to envision that this was the same chick he had seen standing by the dock, but as the modern day saying goes you can take the boy out of the country but you can't take the country out of the boy. She oozed that upper-class bullshit that Mugen had come to loath about these Satsuma guards. Even if she did look like an ordinary kid, the vagabond knew better.

As they stood their, eyeing one another, Mugen grew anxious. _She is going to scream or what_? The hototogisu had ceased to screech with the arrival of its owner and a deathly haze of silence wedged itself between the two parties.  
He eyeballed her over once more, taking in the feminine curve of her jaw line to the slight tilt in her almond shaped eyes knowing that something was off about her appearance. Then he recalled what he had heard when he scaled the walls of her home. _Not Japanese_. Immediately he saw the flaw in her looks. It took him moments, if that to realise that he stared into foreign features. Whereas her alignments were typical of a Japanese child, it was the color of her eyes that would make any Japanese suspicious of a foreign lineage. When he looked at her in the light, her brown eyes were coloured by something – a dark shade of green seemed to show whenever she looked at him fully. It wasn't unheard of for these sorts of qualities to feature – heck, Mugen eyes are grey if anything, but it was generally not a valued trait. Since the Shogun had severed Japanese traveling out of their homeland in the 1630s anything remotely foreign looked dubious.

"Wha-what do yo-you want?" she asked quietly. Mugen could not tell is she was afraid or not. He fancied he saw her tremble as she saw his tanto grasped in one hand, but when he stared at her more intently, he could tell that she was far from scared. Shocked perhaps – not scared, and that notion forced the young boy to back off.

He darted over to the open shutters, slipping in the puddles that had formed. As he ran out the roar of rain sounded in his ears in a deafening blast. It had begun to pour heavier down; the leaves wilting from the strain of each heavy drop that fell from the sky. Mugen wiped at his brow furiously before shoving the tanto back into its sheath, while the other clung to his prize. Keeping the pace he ran back to where the tree-lined curled over to the terrace, making an agile leap onto the thick branches before hurrying into the shelter of its leaves – but he didn't stop there – he wouldn't. The image of the girl propelled him to move onwards.

"What the hell was wrong with her? She stupid or something?" he asked himself while he climbed through the line of trees that stretched far beyond the eye could see.

"Honestly… why wasn't she screaming like a little bitch?"

His thoughts plagued him up until he had distanced himself a few hundred yards from the wall. Mugen had not heard an alarm or noticed any particular movement from the settlement since he had left which told him that the little brat was as dumb as she looked and didn't call for help - yet. _I could'a killed her if I wanted to._

Shrugging his shoulders idly as if the thought could not have been more logical, the boy took a final leap into the grimy understory below; feeling his toes squelch in the thick mud, with twigs and filth scratching at his skin. Unfolding his hand, he stared down at the pendant. The rain that spluttered down from above settled in his cupping palm to rinse the dirt from his hands, revealing that the ornament was shaped like a bird. Mugen took the time to bask in his victory. _Yup – it was well worth the risk_.

Prepared to take off, Mugen set his sights to the heavens above. The thick clouds continued to shower him in water, matting his unruly hair to his head so that he looked like a wet dog that had been left outside in the rain. In any case, he didn't give a damn. He got what he wanted. And whatever else was history now. Taking a first step, the boy noticed how the sky sudden drifted from his gaze before the ground suddenly gave way before him and he found himself nose deep in dirt.

He was motionless for three… or four good seconds, half his face embedded within the mud, the other, staring sideways out into the jungle. "What the fuck?" he spluttered, dirt spewing from his lips. Did I lose my legs or something? Lying there, he attempted to move a foot. It felt heavy and didn't respond to the tug of his leg. "The ground ate my foot!" he yelled before throwing his head up to stare at the site of his foot wretched from his ankles to be gnawed at some terrifying earth creature. Expecting a gruesome scene, Mugen was surprised when he saw a figure curled around his legs with so much force that blood ceased to circulate.  
He attempted to kick, but the thing didn't move; rather it made a guttural sound into his leg. "Wha-what the hell do you want?" he asked the creature, still eluding himself with the thought that this was some beastly animal that had crawled from beneath the earth just to snack on his scrawny body.

"Gise-mes-itz-bats."

"Huah?"

The thing repeated its request before raising its head from the dent of Mugen's legs. Its hair was tangled with moss and grime; twigs sticking out from every nook and cranny of its wild mane. Its face was a mixture of white and brown patches – a horrific vision of smooth porcelain curves with blobs of gritty brown. In the poor light, Mugen was certain that this could only be some sort of fucked-up creature that he had head new exiled criminals talk about. Until, that is, he saw her eyes. Brown eyes that contained a shade of green. He was wishing now more than ever, that it had been the aforementioned beast of the night.

"You crazy bitch! What the heck are you doing here?" he hissed, grimacing as he again tried to loosen her grip on him but to no avail. Her little hands just held him tighter and tighter in that vice like grip making his attempts more erratic with each thrust of his leg.  
She shook some of the earth from her face, revealing more of her porcelain flesh. Her eyes burned with a deep, feral passion as she stared at him – but they were sad too; desperate and imploring. It made Mugen sick and he doubled his efforts to get him off her.

She spat, brown muck flying from her innocent mouth. "Give me it back!"

"Give what to you, you stupid broad?" he said testily. He had no idea what she was on about. All he wanted to do it get out of there. Finally, he felt her grip lessen and he seized the opportunity to scramble out of way before she grabbed him again. As he clawed at the dirt to pull himself upwards, he felt her cold hands graze the flesh of his ankle but the rain made his skin slick and he evaded her clutching fingers. Still, he managed to tumble a few feet away, but it was the distance between them that mattered most to Mugen.

His chest heaves as he panted for some hair, twisting his body round to stare back at the young girl. She hadn't made a start after him. She lay there; arms lengthen in front of her, head bowed to rest against her bicep. Her clothing had stripes of brown and green thrown across it; and tears had obliterated the fine stitching at the hem, causing it to fray along the length. He could see now that her baby soft hands were littered with scratches and marks, staining her skin with red stripes. The blood that mingled with the dirt, dripped from each gentle curve of her crooked fingertips; the rain washing them into oblivion. He was prepared to leave her there – he really would. Stupid kid got herself into this mess. Mugen stared out into the dark forest behind her. Still, there was nothing. The lights of the settlement were dim behind his blurred eyesight, like paint before it dried. He saw the yellow tints of the lights melt before for the canvas of his vision, swimming as each droplet dived into the pockets of his eyes. No one was coming. Did she really have the balls to come out here on her own?  
Mugen was interrupted by her voice.

"Please sir… please give it back," she whispered. Her voice was less demanding as it had been and as she raised herself to look at him he saw tears as they dripped down her face, cleverly disguised against the rain that left wet streaks on her cheeks.

"Don't call me sir!" he mumbled. He was surprisingly mellow. If he had half a brain he would have killed the bitch by now – it's what Mukaro would have done – any criminal. He felt torn between acting as his instinct advised and betraying his society by leaving her here alone in the woods. The latter seemed more appealing. Fuck the status-quo of what he should do. He'd leave the broad here. Ignoring her pleas, Mugen raised himself to his feet, already turning away from the view of the Satsuma settlement and the girl that had followed him.

"Please! Please, give it back! It's all I have left!"

_Maybe he should kill her_. His eyebrow twitched and his hand threatened to reach up to his tanto. "Shut'dup," he yelled. His mind raced with questions – mainly how the heck she had managed to get so close to him without his realizing it. Nonetheless, despite his need for quiet the girl refused to keep silent.

"It's all I have left of my mother." Mugen eyed her in disdain, watching as her fragile figure trembled with the effort to rise; her bony knees revealing their bloodied state as she stood up to full height. It was then did the boy understand that she had tried to follow him through the trees and gotten hurt in the process._ All for the little trinket in his hand_? He unknowingly glanced down at it, his arm outstretched to better see the pendant. Looking up he saw that his follower was also staring intently at the object in his hand. But he didn't give it to her. Not yet.

"Did anyone follow you here, bitch?" he spat. A hard façade was what he was used to – he didn't know her, and vise versa. His malice was driven by the proposition that this would be the last time he would see her.

Mugen grinned as he saw her features tighten and an angry blush came to her cheeks. She obviously knew the meaning of the word.

"No."

"So you're a real dumb bitch, aren't ya? I could just kill you hear and get it over with. Did you ever think about that bi-"

"Stop calling me _that_!" she said furiously, her knuckles white as they squeezed the life out of her attire. Mugen was glad that he had gotten her off her legs before he began taunting her. "I have a name."

"Like I car-." Mugen trailed away and scoffed loudly. Look at them – two kids from completely different walks of life standing together. To be honest you couldn't tell one from the other. Perhaps it was that, above all things that instigated his milder manner – that and when it all came down to it, everyone is black in the dark. "So what's it?"

"What?"

"You're name bi-kid."

She shuffled. It was apparent that yelling at him had been a spur of the moment thing and she had foretold him actually bothering to find out what she was really called. That gave the boy some negligible gratification – acting against what others thought is going to happen always gave him a slight buzz.  
"Nekomi."

"Whatever," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand as if he hadn't the faintest interest. "So tell me," he began, as if their poor formalities were just all part of the small talk. "What would you be willing to give in return for this, hmm?" He looped the necklace round his finger, watching her suddenly lunge for it when she saw the pendant drop from his grasp. He snickered at her discomfort and watched as she again resumed a quieter and more controlled stance.

"I-I don't know. What do you want?"

Mugen looked taken back. _What do I want?_

"I could give you some food, or-"

"I don't take hand-outs from people," Mugen replied stubbornly, his lower lips jutting out in a pout. He was purposely making it difficult for her because he did not know any other way to communicate. The fact that she was being so goody-too-shoes about the entire scenario made it even harder for him to take pleasure in his taunting – did the bitch not understand who he was? He scratched the non-existent hairs on the tip of his chin, watching the way she quivered as the cool raindrops cascaded onto her lithe form, pouring down through the hollow between her shoulder blades.

"Th-then what do you want?" It appears the cold was making her desperate and she no longer had the patience to play Mugen's game. But he wasn't finished with her yet. And it ended when he said it did.

"Dunno," he said with mock boredom. "So…" Mugen moved on to avoid tiring the subject. "Why'd you come af'a me?"

She looked at him incredulously. She didn't think she heard right. "T-to get back my mother's necklace…"

"Yea', I'm not stupid you know. I figured that much. But why didn't you get your daddy's goons to pick it up for yer?"

Nekomi wrapped her arms around her front defensively, her back arching into an elegant bow as she tried to stop her form from shivering. She was staring at Mugen in confusion – yet at the same time, she was interested in him. He could tell. She wouldn't have stayed otherwise.

"I… I don't know. I… I thought I could hand-dle it."

Mugen laughed spitefully at her response. "You are such a dumb broad following me here… but." The thirteen year old stared up at him with her strange, almond shaped eyes. "You got some guts."

The rain had lost some of its fury and ceased to teem down upon the two, however, the damage was done. Mugen's outrageous hair was sticking to the sharp angles of his face, tendrils clinging to his prominent jaw line and chiseled chin. Nekomi looked equally as ragged. The little princess was soaked to the bone. Her thin nightwear was as matted to her skin as Mugen's hair was to her head. Despite her windswept appearance, an awkward smile eased her battered looks. "What's your name?"

Tossing the pendant into the air, it landed a few feet from the girl in the muddy earth. Mugen had already turned, only hearing the way she scrambled to the floor to search for her treasure.

"Name's Mugen, girly. You'd do well to remember it – I'll want some payback sometime soon."

"Mu-Mugen? Tha-thank you," she said; her breathing erratic as she managed to scoop the necklace up along with a handful of mud. "I." As she scrambled to her feet, her broad grin fell. He'd disappeared into the night without a trace.

* * *

"Mugen…?"  
Suddenly he was dragged between two worlds, pulled into a limbo where he felt past and present coalesce: a terrifying combination that physically pained him. He felt like he was becoming unhinged and unraveled, fraying like a piece of cloth whose ends were being pulled into the fundamental string. Fuu's voice resonated in his mind, bounding off the walls of this empty abyss he found himself in. The familiarity of her call had a magnitude to it; its own invisible pull that was tugging him from the recesses of his memory.  
On the other side of the spectrum was his mind; a conscience of its own which tugged and pulled at its own length of the string. Strangely there was no voice; just whispers of the wind and the scent of flowers.  
Again, he could hear Fuu calling out to him, but he ignored her, and allowed his thoughts to engulf him once more.

In reality, Fuu was perched by his side. Her hand covered his and she shook him gently.

"Mugen…?" She was tired and shaking visibly from the cold. The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon; nonetheless, the inky ebony of the sky was fading into a dark navy – dawn was approaching. Still, the wind had picked up, and without the heat of the fire the young girl was practically an icicle. Her lips had turned blue with cold and her fingers had been drained of their memorable warmth and pink flush.  
Mugen groaned and turned on his side, revealing the warm underside of his mattress.  
Fuu stared at him intently before she shuffled closer, curling into the space that was left for her; pressing her face into the crook of his back and whirling her form around his to escape the bitter coldness of her lonely futon. She didn't care what terms they were on – no matter how stubborn she was, their little rift was not something she was willing to freeze over.

* * *

"What's that?"

Gasping, Nekomi's gaze darted to the open shutters of her balcony door. Mugen was leant against one of the shutters, arms folded over his scrawny chest. It took her a moment, but from the grin that formed on her lips, he could tell that she had recalled him from that rainy night a few days ago.  
She had cleaned up since he had last seen her. The bruises on her supple arms were fading now and the diagonal cut above her brow was hardly visible beneath the strands of her dark hair. Her fitted blue kimono was dazzling in the soft morning sunlight; azure in colour with flamboyant designs embroidered around the hem with silver string. Around her neck, he could see the golden reflection of the necklace, and as she removed herself from the cushion she rested on, it swayed into view – the very same pendant he had tried to steal.  
Following his line of sight – hesitantly at first – the girl looked over her shoulder at meager sprout of green that came from an ornate vase next to the opening to the terrace. The plant drooped against a stick that had been planted adjacent to it; propping it upwards to that the wilting flora did not sag over the side of the urn. Nekomi smiled reflectively at the plant before turning her attention back to Mugen.

"It's a baby Sakura."

"Sakura?"

"A cherry-blossom."

"Oh, so that's what that smell is…" he murmured – more to himself than Nekomi. He had seen the strange looking plant when he had broken into her home the first time, but could not make heads or tails of what it was. "Aren't these things meant to be purdy and shit?"  
She cringed at the crudeness of his comment, but forced herself to overlook it.

Again, she was staring back at the plant like she could see beyond its weak exterior and admire if for what little it had to offer.

"Give it some time. It may not look too good now, but sooner or later we'll be able to plant it back in my garden back home and it will grow to be a thing of beauty indeed."

Mugen scratched his head, unsure about what to say. Was she looking at the same thing as her? He just saw crumpled leaves and feeble branches that were too weak to hold itself up - it was puny, _ugly_ and simply no good to anyone. He couldn't see the point of tending to something that couldn't endure on its own. It was a dog-eat-dog world here – survival of the fittest. If you have not got the tools to survive then you were straight out of luck. It was how he had been brought up and it was all he knew.

"So you came back!" she said cheerfully, clasping her hands in front of her in a prayer like stance. It was as if the entire incident had blown over – that the reasons for her cuts and bruises was completely forgotten.  
In the morning sun she looked refreshed and renewed; so much so that even the slightest flaw or blemish was overshadowed by her brilliant smile and bright, thoughtful eyes. She took a step towards him, a hand outstretched to beckon him inside.  
"My father and most of the guards are out-"

"On the morning patrol," Mugen finished. "I'm not stupid 'nuff to come when they are all here you know," he added with a snort, walking to the opposite side of the room to where she gestured. He gawped around apathetically, and ignored the enchanted stare she gave him as he strutted around the quarter, making sure she knew that he was his own person and would not bend to her every whim like one of her hand-maids. He noticed the untouched bowl of rice placed before the cushion and leant to pick it up. He paused half way.  
"This yours?"

"Huh?" Nekomi had been so busy staring she only just caught the end of his question. "Oh, um, yes it is. But you can have it if you like – I haven't eaten it or anything."

"No. I don't want to eat it," his eyes narrowed at her and regretfully, he resisted the urge to consume the food purely because he felt that her tone of voice was too commanding for him to obey.  
She paused and rubbed a hand over her neck, contemplating her next choice of words.

"Fine. Don't eat it, then."

He arched a brow, gaze drifting from her back down to the bowl. He scooped it up skillfully in one hand while the other grasped the chop-sticks and made fast work of the meal. He ate like a ravenous hound, fearfully staring up at the other while he tried to stuff as much food into his belly before making a dash for safety.  
Nekomi was smiling jubilantly and Mugen could not help but smile back.

Smart girl – she picked up Mugen's superiority complex early on and catered to his need to go against orders to get him to do what she wanted.

"So," Nekomi began, however she was unable to complete her sentence.

"Why are you here?" Mugen asked with a mouthful of rice. The grains were littered across his face; across his cheek and surrounded his lips but he didn't seem to notice. Nekomi giggled at the sight nonetheless, she thought it was best to refrain from telling him.

"I was about to ask you the same question. But – what do you mean, why am I here?"

"This ain't much of'a hot spot for people like _you_."

He had not meant to sound as inhospitable as he had and was hoping to make a valid observation, nevertheless, he could see that his statement caught her off guard. She recoiled as if she had taken a physical blow and her sights were lowered to her feet which scuffed at the floor.

"I guess. But my father is here, so he wants me to stay here with him for a bit before I leave," she told him before placing herself on top of her futon, content to simply watch Mugen as he consumed the remainder of her food.

Mugen coughed and a few grains of white flew from his mouth. He wiped his lips while he placed the empty bowl back where he had initially retrieved it.

"You're leaving?"

She nodded and rubbed her grazed elbows thoughtfully. "Soon – I have to go back to Satsuma to be taught." He looked at her confused, but she waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter."

Although her appearance had improved since they parted ways in the rain, he could see that her bones still ached and her joints were moving slowly to avoid tugging at the fractured skin too much. Sometimes he saw her brow twitch in pain as she stretched her arms out, or nibble at her lower lip when she moved her legs across the futon. He was surprised he had taken the time to notice that she had been injured – pain and scratches came daily to him and looked like gashes in comparison to the to the grazes she sustained. Heck, she was so flawless that there was little doubt in his mind that this was the first time she had ever gotten cut up. Still, he did find himself preoccupied with her minuscule scrapes.

"So what did'ya tell your dad 'bout the scratches?"

She shrugged her shoulders and covered her elbows with her cupping hands, as if she was embarrassed that he had seen her wince over such small grazes. "I told him I tripped and fell – hitting the tree outside."  
Turning her face to him, he could see that she had continued to grin up at him. Her almond eyes had the slightest upward tilt at the corners, cresting alongside the tips of her fringe. It had a strange effect – making her seem older than she really was and less childlike. Nonetheless, they maintained a warm and welcoming gaze about them that weakened the sharp angles of her eyes. They dropped bashfully to her hands once she realized that she had been watching Mugen blatantly without the manners to disguise her interest in the strange newcomer.

"So, why are you here?"

Before she could receive an answer, Mugen had leapt skillfully towards the terrace and disappeared behind the screen doors with only the subtle sounds of his geta revealing to her that he skidded down the length of the terrace. She followed toot-suit to the door, only managing to get halfway before she discovered what had drove the boy away.

"Nekomi? May I come in?"

"Ye-ye-" she paused, and inhaled deeply to calm herself. The quickness at which Mugen dashed off from her room and startled her, and her voice cracked with the effort to sound composed.  
"Come in, please."

She screen opened; pulled back a sliver to reveal the worn face of Nekomi's handmaid. She was a mature woman – past middle age though the many lines that creased her pasty skin made her out to be far older than she actually was. Years of smoking and drinking sake made its mark on the wrinkles that furrowed and deepened with the smallest change of expression; yet it helped give the elder's lady a hospitable, grandmother-like exterior that always soothed Nekomi.

"Takara-san," she greeted her governess with an anxious smile.

"I have just received a letter from your father, child," Takara rasped, the grin fading from her lips. "He said that he will be late, so you fighting lesson will have to be postponed until tomorrow morning," she continued before suddenly bursting into a fit of low, growling coughs. Nekomi's hand curled to rest on her chest as she listened to the sickening sound.

"Takara… are you feeling alright?"

She waved her hand. "I'm fine, I'm fine, dear. Don't worry about me."

"Maybe you should take a break?"

"Oh I couldn't-"

"No, no. I insist! Ill be alright!"

Takara seemed ready to protest once more, but she hesitated. "I'll be in the garden in you need anything," she told the twelve year old with a gentle sigh, before closing the door.  
Just as the frame touched the tip of the pale screen, Mugen's voice sounded across the room.

"You can fight?"

Nekomi let out the essence of a gasp; however it looked like she was adjusting to Mugen's constant reappearances. She giggled and felt her cheeks flush hotly under his shocked gaze.  
"Well… not really but-"

"But you've learnt stuff?"

"I-I suppose, but I'm not very good or anything."

"Pft – that's for sure," Mugen said with a loud snort.

Nekomi's timid gaze turned hard. "What are you trying to say?"

"Look at you – you don't exactly scream dojo-girl. You're scrawny and above all, a girl!"

Before he could even comprehend what had hit him, Mugen fell back onto his behind with a muted thud, finding that the pillow Nekomi had been sat on proved to be an efficient cushion as he landed onto the floor below. Blinking furiously, he glanced down at his legs, seeing Nekomi wrapped round his ankles; face flushed and hair falling from her elegant bun into her line of sight. She was panting as if she had just run a marathon, and a mischievous glint radiated from her eyes, though it cleared once she had grasped what she had just done. Staring up at Mugen, she began laughing loudly, amused by his shocked expression.  
Strangely, Mugen dismissed his instinct to scream and shout, and gave a impish smirk.

"Ooh, you are so gettin' it!"

In the corner, the bird remained silent, perched on its roost as it watched the two playing. It cooed in delight before nestling its beak in the thick of its plume, tending to its lush feathers.

In the midst of their fighting, Mugen had lost his interest in receiving a reward for his kindness by returning her stolen necklace. As they tumbled and frolicked without the worry of being overheard, he had even dismissed his curiosity as to why this little girl had been so eager to invite him to her home – regardless of the fact that he was a strange, bad-mannered vagabond who she had no idea about.  
Subconsciously however, he realized that she was after the same thing as him – a shred of security; a friend in this lonely world. She was so desperate she didn't seem to care who it was, as long as there was someone out there to offer some comfort to this bird in her gilded cage.

* * *

Mugen was grinning as the dream faded, and he was placed back into the realm of reality. Nonetheless, his eyes remained closed and his body motionless as he lazed in the heat of the morning sun; feeling the light sting his closed lids and burn the sensitive eyes beneath.  
He turned on his side, throwing his arm over the little body that was pressed so intently into his flesh. He felt tendrils of hair tickling his nose, and felt cool gushes of air against his chest, fluttering his loosely fitted undershirt.  
Cracking open one eye, he stared down at the brown-haired girl and smiled… but his coy simper faded when he took in his surroundings – he was certainly not in a brothel and this was not what his dream looked like. His muscles tensed as he stared at the lonely mattress in the corner. _It couldn't be… what the hell was she doing in his bed? _

As he racked his brain for answers – dreading the idea of him being drunk and taking advantage of her while inebriated – his movement caused Fuu to shuffle closer to him with her small hands curling defensively to his chest to avoid him from moving. Of course, her clinginess caused him to freeze up and soon, his companion had awoken and was staring up confusedly into his face.  
She looked tired, but annoyingly attractive. Her hair had grown and just reached the back of her neck, and was as sleek as it had been when he first met her. Her lips were full and beckoned to be kissed; red, soft and plump. It was so alluring that Mugen couldn't seem to draw his gaze away – not only because of her appearance, but due to the fact that it was Fuu that he was thinking about.  
The girl in question gave an awkward grin, unsettled by his stare. 

"What's wrong?"

"…Your face."

Mugen had seen the slap coming but closed his eyes and allowed her raised hand to land straight onto his exposed cheek. He heard the sound of the collision first and then the sweet sting and heat that replaced her fingers as if engraved onto his skin. Soon, he felt her shuffle out from his grasp and the warmth of her body seeped away into the morning breeze.

However, his smile refused to leave his lips.

"Bitch…"

* * *

**N O T E S** : A massive thanks to all my reviewers and subscribers! You're all so wonderful! I really love the critique I am gettin', but in advance ---  
I AM SO SORRY. I cannot help being so annoyingly descriptive - and in a bad way. I really am going to work on cutting down on the confusion in my later chapters.  
OH! And sorry for the errors I've got in this chapter. I didn't check it that closely this time.

Okies well - this was more a dream sequence - I am going to have another chapter dedicated to dreams (coming in two parts) later on.  
I did research on Satsuma relations with R.Islands during Edo time and tried to combine both S.Champ. vision of it, and how it was described by the residents. I figured since Satsuma  
had such close ties with the islands that it would be best to incoporate both worlds - and who better to personify than the characters?  
Music that inspired me... Hmmm - I was listening to _Sweet 16_, by _Billy Idol_ with the second dream sequence and awakening.

Coming up...

Back on the road again. Fuu has actually got her bearings right and she seems to be heading in the right direction to Satsuma. She just wished Mugen would sing her praise once in a while...


	6. Chapter Five

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Five - Belle Reve  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : We gott'a do some more back-tracking, foo'! More day-dreaming and a little bit of promise for a better Fuu and Mugen relationship.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

"_Oof_!"

Nekomi wheezed as she felt the air forced from her lungs.  
Mugen was onto of her, grinning. He pinned her down with one hand against each shoulder, knees pressed against her sides.  
Now sixteen, he had matured considerably. His lean figure had acquired some bulk; filling out what were skinny arms and a gangling torso, however his recent growth spurt counterbalanced this so that he remained as lean and lanky as before. He proudly sported the odd shoot of hair on the tip of his chin, and scratched it whenever possible to emphasis the fact that he was becoming a man – officially!

"Pinned ya… _again_," he gloated though his rejoicing over his victory was short lived. He had barely broken a sweat in the hour they had been wrestling, and while he was not very good with numbers and counting, he was pretty sure he had won all of his attacks. Not that he didn't mind winning or anything – he always did. But he preferred the challenge more than the fighting itself.  
"Yo, what's up with you, girly?" He gripped her shoulders harder to bring her back to the present. She seemed to be staring beyond him, right into the canopy of trees that engulfed them. "I mean, you're bad, but you can normally squeeze out a tackle or two," he continued, hoping his remark would bring the fight back into her. He felt her fingers against his flank, and he braced himself for what he thought would be an assault.  
Instead, he felt her cold digits rake painlessly across his sides, pressed under the loose fitting of his undershirt. He felt her trace the outline of a large cut that had only just recently healed and the both of them flinched at the contact.

"Mugen…" she whispered, centering her gaze on him while she thumbed the gash once more, sizing up the wound with her fluttered touches.  
Mugen removed himself from on top of her and raised himself to full height.

"Ah, don't go girl on me, Nekomi. I don't need that sympathy crap," he told her brusquely while he wiped himself down.

"But you're hurt." It was a passive comment – one that she's rehearsed. They had been in this situation before – when Mugen found himself cornered by a couple of new thugs or scrabbling over a piece of food out in the depths of the colony where even the Satsuma guards failed to go. Before she would complain which much more ferocity, nonetheless, it seemed after years of trying to help him her resolve faltered and she could only make feeble protests that she knew would be broken down by Mugen's stubbornness. But today, she was borderline of not caring at all.

It was not like he _enjoyed_ the attention she gave him; fussing over the smallest cuts and bruises he sustained, however it did feel awkward that she was so apathetic.

"What'sup with you?" He arched a brow at her, hands on hips.

Nekomi had not moved from the ground – still thrown back against the ground below. Her hair was loose and it was splayed like a fan around her head, decorated by the odd twig or leaf that had become attached during her tumble to the earth.  
She had grown but not at the same rate as Mugen. When they were twelve they were probably at equal height however, her nose just peaked above his shoulder. How long it would stay like that, he couldn't tell – he had a feeling that there was still some growing left in her.  
The girl narrowed her eyes on him, peering down her small nose at Mugen who posed by her legs. Her eyes had a sad look about them, with the lids sagging over much of her irises.

"I'm leaving soon," she told Mugen, adverting her sights to the ground.

The atmosphere was ruined by the boy's loud grunt.

"You always leave," he reminded her. It wasn't as if she was admitting something new! Every year since she had first come to the island, there had been the cycle of her coming and going. School and the fact that she was on a penal colony forced her from her father's home after a few weeks of staying here, back to Satsuma. At first it was a strange adjustment. Mugen would see her one day and then after rekindling their relationship, he would catch her boarding a vessel back to her homeland. He'd wait an entire year before seeing that same ship; but every time it was new experience, seeing a new face peer over the bulk of the boat. It was different when you did not have the chance to watch someone grow up for the smallest of changes looked remarkable.

She shuffled awkwardly at his response, finally rolling into a sitting position. Mugen dropped down beside her, fingers automatically moving towards the grass to pull at the leaves and yank the roots from the soil.

"I…" she winced but shook off the notion. "I suppose your right."

"Mmm, 'course I am," he told her, scratching at his chin. He waited for the feeling he got when he was right – that click of satisfaction, but it wasn't there. He didn't enjoy gloating when she was willing to give into him. This wasn't any fun – and since his time was limited with her, he was going to have fun no matter what.  
"Yo, what's _up_ with you?"

"What are your parents like?"

"Huh?"

She was staring out into the glade with her arms wrapped around her knees, now pressed up against her chest.

"Your parents?"

"You know as hell that I ain't go not 'rents."

"But you don't remember them… at all? Or think about them?"

He began pulling harder at the grass. "No."

She was staring at him considerately and he allowed his temper get the better of him.

"They ditched me when I was still'a kid." He already hated where this was going. Nekomi was hardly one to dwell on such trivial matters – especially when she would be leaving. She was much more content to spend her last days savoring her freedom, outside her fortress walls. This was not like her and Mugen wasn't accustomed to change.  
"Well whadd'a bout your mum, aye? Do _you_ think of her?"

He did not comprehend the maternal bond Nekomi had with her mother. She never spoke about her, or even mentioned her name whenever the conversation arose. From his own background, Mugen could not grasp how she could grow to care for someone so deeply – having no relatives of his own meant he little experience with these matters. All he had were fragments of his past; snippets of being left behind and abandoned.  
How could anyone with that upbringing, ever learn what it means to have the support and love of a family?

"Of course," she said simply. "Every day."

There was another one of those sickly pauses – where Mugen's abilities to communicate revealed their limits.

"I want to meet those friends of yours," she commented, continuing her tête-à-tête on a tangent.

"You don't – Nekomi – what the hell is wrong with you?"

Turning towards him, she offered him another feeble smile. Despite the flaccidity of it, it still eased Mugen. He had assumed if it was something grave or important that she would be wise enough to tell him – he expected that much from her at least. However, at this point in time he had yet to learn of the fickleness of women, and their innate instinct to lie and deceive.

"So-so when you go to Satsuma, what do you intend to do?"

Nekomi looked surprise as Mugen attempted to deter their conversation onto less anxious terms. Generally, he allowed Nekomi to manage the route of their discussions, simply because he did not want to say something foolish when the opportunity arose.  
He hovered over her form before she decided to stand, trotting elegantly a few feet from where he stood. She flicked back her chocolate hair and peered at Mugen over her shoulder; batting her eyelashes as seductively as she could manage. He grinned ruefully in response and plopped down onto the ground with a gentle thud, refusing to remove his gaze from the sight of the fifteen year old as she swayed her arms to the non-existent beat. Her milky skin was revealed beneath the heavy folds of her kimono as she exposed her wrists with each flowing gesture of her arms; dancing, effectively with just her arms. Regardless of the soothing situation he found himself in, Mugen laughed.

"What _are_ you doing?"

She began to hum a sweet melody, her eyes closed as she allowed her thoughts of dance and music to consume her. She gracefully turned to Mugen, now incorporating an easy sway of her hips and waist into the equation as the song progressed. Mugen did not have the heart to stop her. Even though he was slightly baffled by her performance, he felt the weight on his chest lighten as he watched her enjoying herself – back to normal; without this fuss of his family, or his personal life.  
For the time being he was happy to observe from a distance. Although dancing was not something he found entertaining, it was because Nekomi was showing him another part of her that she had not revealed before, made it interesting to watch.

After some time, her humming stopped, and with it, her movement. She opened her eyes and glanced down at Mugen, confused; her eyes blinking rapidly as she stared back into his face as if she had just awoken from a trance. The smirk had not faded from his lips, and his cold, penetrating stare unnerved the girl. She shuffled foolishly, bringing her arms quickly down to her front while she blushed under his gaze. In a flash, all that elegance and flair had been swept away by her childish demeanor.

"Do you like it?"

"Well, what is it?"

She pouted and placed her hands on her hips. She was thin, and the stance emphasized her slender build as the bones in her shoulder, bulged outwards. "It's dancing! Can't you tell?"

"So… you are going to dance when you go back?"

She nodded enthusiastically, though he could still tell she was embarrassed by the matter.  
"Yeah-huh! Well… I would like to, at least. I don't know if father would let me," she said. Once more, she looked sad – depressed, was a better word.  
"It's just… now that I am betrothed, I don't think I will be able to live my life the way I want to…"

Mugen did not understand – he did not stand the word, 'betrothed' or the meaning of her phrase, and therefore, the source of her unhappiness. Again he felt this rage burn within him, no only because he could not relate to what she was saying, but because what she had told him had made her miserable and he could no nothing but gawp, nod, and accept whatever she had said as fact.

"And I am _leaving_," she said again.

Mugen once more, suppressed that feeling in his gut that there was something ominous to that phrase… a warning. The heart hears what it wants to hear.

"The dancing was… alright I guess," he told her with a yawn, stretching him arms above his head. It took all his energy to hide the satisfied grin as her cheeks puffed and her eyes grew narrow. "I mean, it's meant to be sexy, ain't it?"

"Yes…" she growled, indicating that she had tried hard to imitate what the real dancers would do.

"I ain't seeing sexy. You an' your boy's body don't do much for me 'nyway," he told her. His eyes were shut, but he had anticipated her attack, and caught her skillfully in his arms, his stomach only trembling as the girl lunged at him. She was giggling despite her failed effort to hurt him, and wriggled from his grasp. Her strange eyes were raised towards the canopy, peering through the gaps in the tree line at the ginger hue of the sky. She squealed and nearly kicked Mugen as she swirled round on her feet and dashed towards the opening of the glade; kimono in hand. Disgruntled, Mugen followed her; followed the sound of her labored breathing and the crackling noise of the vegetation that she stepped on; light and brief. It stopped relatively soon and Mugen too, slowed his gait as he neared the place where she had stopped. The thicket had cleared with the waning branches still shaking from the assault from the Satsuma resident.  
The image of Nekomi manifested as he crept closer, pushing past the last stretch of green into the open peak of a cliff that overlooked the sea beneath. The blue temptress was unusually docile, calmly lapping at the shore beneath; colored a dark navy by the setting sun. Above, the clouds were few, but plump; like little swabs of cotton that were stuck randomly against the canvas of the sky. Nekomi was there, arms flailed outwards slightly by her sides, with her hand whipping round the sides of her neck in the direction of the prevailing wind. As Mugen approached her, she did not acknowledge him – not until he was right next to her overlooking the quaint image of the shoreline and the settlement in the distance.

"I wish I could stay here forever," she told him. "Just… away from everyone that I know; away from Satsuma and…"

She did not have the heart to continue. One hand was bawled in a fist by her chest, her eyes fixated on the horizon in spite of the harsh glare of the sun. Suddenly, one hand attached itself to Mugen's, slipping between the gaps in his fingers. He was startled and tried to pull away but she held on tight, not allowing him to escape. Mugen stared down at her hand, and saw how small it was in comparison to his. They were so thin and fragile – delicate hands that had never had to do a day of hard work.  
When he looked up at her face again, he could see that she was crying. Moist streaks lined her face, and adjacent to her soft smile, Mugen felt his stomach give another painful lurch.

Something bad was going to happen.

Something _horrible_.

But he couldn't say anything.

Because he doesn't want to think about it -

He _doesn't_ want to be right again.

The heart hears what it wants to hear.

* * *

"I told you! Look – look, its there! The forest!"

"Huh?"

"You do a lot of day-dreaming, you know?" Fuu said testily before point a finger in the direction of dense vegetation short distance away.  
Mugen just passed Fuu without the smallest interest; his hands curled causally behind his head. His eyes were still shut to savor the remains of his day-dream, fancying that he was still perched on the edge of the cliff. The pain in his gut caused him to convulse and return to the present.

"Whoopty-fucking-do. Why you so surprised, huh? I thought you knew where you were going. This shit shouldn't surprise you. If anyone should be surprised it should be me."

"Why? Don't think woman can follow directions?"

"No – just you. Fuck, you are the best at getting' lost in fucking cities. It's a god-damn miracle that you found the way here."

"HEY! Whad-da bout all those times you got us lost, huh?"

"I'm never lost – I always know where I am at, n' where I'm headin'," he said defensively.

"Geeze. What's with you? You've been grumpy the whole day? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or what?"

Mugen smiled viciously and scratched the back of his neck. "More like the wrong side of a dream," he muttered under his breath, earning a 'huh' from Fuu who thought she was being addressed. When he waved her down, she assumed what he had said was another crude insult.

"Mugen, I swear I will just let you figure this out on your own if you don't start-" Her stomach grumbled; grumbled so loudly in fact, that Fuu had to stop mid-way through her sentence. She blushed and her arms wrapped round her stomach as if to muffle the echo of the rumble from Mugen. He had already heard it, and was peering through the gap in his crooked arms.

"Mugen…I'm hungry."

"Aarg, Fuu – you eat like a pig!"

Four days of traveling with her and he had already rehearsed all his lines: bitch, piggy, bitch, bitch, idiot. Mornings and afternoons of endless walking with Fuu whining and questioning him followed by restless nights being tormented by dreams had made him surprisingly tolerable. In his exhaustion he was too tired to protest to many of Fuu's remarks and grew to accept her quicker than he would have liked to admit. At this point he could barely emphasis his comment about her being a pig!

"Mugen…"

"Ah, screw this! Go find something to eat-"

"But-"

"But, what?"

He heard her rummaging in her packet of goodies, cursing under her breath.

"We are out of food."

Mugen's scarred brow twitched as he heard her mumbled the words. They didn't sink into his head for quite sometime, but his body automatically stopped as if his entire brain had to function to comprehend what she had told him.

"_Out-of-food_?"

She had already anticipated his anger and began to recount how she had not consumed the entire weeks worth of food in the few days they had traveled.

"You eats lots too! You ate the last bits of the dango last night!"

"The dango?" He scanned his memory trying to recall what had happened the previous night before.

_"'Ugen! Giff 'em baff!" Fuu was waving her hands trying to grab the few remaining roasted dumplings from the fireplace; battling with Mugen's nimble fingers as he plucked them from their resting place. Fuu had her mouth full of food and barely had time to register his movements. Before she could even get up, Mugen had mounds of soggy dango shoved into his mouth._

He knew he had eaten it, but he was not going to let the wench pin the blame on him.

"Oi, you cooked the stuff. You would'a eaten them 'nyway."

Although they loved to argue, both were too hungry to bicker and set aside their blaming for later.

"We still need food."

Giving his wild hair a rub, Mugen's sights settled beyond the fringe of the forest. There was nothing but trees, road and dirt to be seen for miles on end, however, Mugen knew that there was a place they could travel to where they could stock up on a few necessities. His lower jaw jutted as he thought harder, trying to remember. It was so long ago now that the entire scenery was a blur of old sights and smells that meshed into some incomprehensible recollection.  
Soundlessly, he turned back, heading diagonally from the small pathway that they had taken to. Fuu, rather than argue on the stop, waddled behind.

"We are going the wrong way, Mugen," she informed him with a hint of urgency in her voice. She was still hungry and did not intend to remain quiet while her guardian wandered in whatever direction pleased him. Mugen was not the most consistent character after all.

"We gotta head back some onto the main road. There's an old place that used to stock some food and shit… I think I know how to get there, 'least."

"You been there before?"

"Yeah. Once."

Fuu nibbled cautiously while she spoke. She was uncertain whether she should continue. Mugen had not slept well the night before. She had heard him while he slept; groaning and kicking at the mattress. He never spoke; simply gave guttural, animalistic sounds that reminded her of livestock she had seen slaughtered in town – when the sharp knife did not do its job properly, and the poor creature would suffer for moments longer. He would be testier than usual and since they were on poor grounds without food, she honestly believed he would knock her out and leave her in a ditch somewhere if she said something out of line.

"Uh. Would you like me to stay and wait for you here then?" she asked him cheerfully, hoping that her offer to leave him alone would please him. It did the very opposite.

"Like hell you're staying here! I ain't leavin' a twerp like you on your own," he told her firmly, casting a disappointed – you are such a retard – glower before he stormed off a head. It was only a little past midday, but apparently Mugen was not willing to take the chance of leaving her on her own. Perhaps he was beginning to value her company now that he had grown accustomed to it once more.

Fuu smiled happily as the concept rolled into her mind, head lowered to disguise her cheerfulness with the hurt she was meant to feel by saying such an idiotic thing.

Things were finally beginning to look up.

* * *

**N O T E S** : A massive thanks, AGAIN to all my reviewers and subscribers! I love all the comments I am getting. Its such an ego boost. -sticks chest out proudly-  
AND I AM SO SORRY this rubbish chapter took so long to complete! I was just so busy, and for the past three days, I've had no internet. I finished this post just went the internet when  
bust - as is my luck.  
This is more of a filler. The next chapter is promised to have more informational goodness. Stay tuned, lovies!  
-hands out cookies-

Music that I listed to while writing this was, _'Hanging By a Moment'_ by Lifehouse for the day-dream sequence, and then, some good ol' _'Sweet Home Alabama'_ by Lynard Skinard.

Coming up...

"You look so much like him," she told him wistfully.  
"Sorry lady. It ain't me. Never been here before."  
Mugen turned away from the old woman's potent gaze, watching Fuu who was glancing through layers upon layers of rice sacs and old containers of food.  
The elderly shop-keeper seemed to remember herself and too, adverted her sight to stare at Fuu. Nonetheless, her expression remained forlorn, and her glazed eyes had a mysterious gleam to them.  
"I suppose you're right." She forced out a laugh. "These eyes don't see as well as they used to anymore."


	7. Chapter Six

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Six - Paying Customers  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu MugenxOC  
**S U M M A R Y** : Backtracking - the twosome need food to eat; even if that food does come from an old shack in the middle of no-where.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

The hours rolled on with the pair scuttling too and fro as they took a few paces back onto the main road. They had not traveled much distance, but the winding streets that branched off in different directions kept Mugen on edge, and had him retracing his steps several times until he was positive he had taken the right path.  
Fuu kept silent. While she was desperately hungry by the time they had made some progress she was still content that Mugen had shown some indication that he had some emotional range and kept her head down. Naturally their silence was uncomfortable but she dealt with it – her annoyance over his crude and pointless mannerisms propelling her through this silence. 

"It's there."

Looking up from the ground Fuu almost walked straight into Mugen's back.  
She exhaled heavily against his gi, staring into the dirty red of his over-shirt which tickled the pointed tip of her nose. She would have sneezed had she had the brain to do it as well as breathe. Twisting her nape to the side she glanced over the edge of Mugen's body up at the crooked house on the side of the road.  
It was partially concealed behind meager vegetation which frowned over its twisted entrance. The wooden planks that made up the shack were worn and rotten; some bent out of shape, some hanging from their hinges. Even the frame of the door was warped; slanting towards the right with a piece of tattered cloth acting as a makeshift screen that separated the interior from the outside world. Fuu was not upset.

She glowered up at Mugen and pouted. "_This_ is what we came all the way out here for?"

"No, we came here for food," he reminded her, a warning hiss in his voice reminding her that it was best not to test his patience until they had stuffed their stomachs.  
Taking the lead, Mugen stalked off into the recesses of the home, vanishing behind the fraying veil into the darkness within. Fuu remained behind for a few prolonged moments, holding her breath as she waited for the sound of an ambush, or the clash of swords.

"Fuu! Bitch, get your ass in here!"

Mugen's face appeared briefly behind the veil. His chin was jutting forward and his cold eyes bore into hers, drawing her in. As his face disappeared once more, she too, ventured into the unknown.  
The overwhelming aroma of dust and musk trounced the young woman. Her hand shot up to grip her nostrils shut and her eyes watered as her body quelled the lingering scent that resided in her lungs. Her cheeks bulged as if she was going to puke. Fuu looked at Mugen for sympathy, but he gave her the cold shoulder.

"Live with it," he told her firmly, one hand reaching back over his shoulder to give himself a quick scratch. While he remained unperturbed, his gesture indicated otherwise. His fingers twitched towards the elongated handle of his swords, poised there as they trekked further into the depths of the old residence. It looked like it had not been inhabited for centuries, but the odd scuff marks in the sheet of dirt revealed that people had been here recently. Mugen was not sure who it was and there was no harm in being prepared.  
He thumbed the worn leather that surrounded the handle of his sword, and his expression softened somewhat.

"Don't think anyone is here, Mugen."

"Shush!" He flagged her down and her lips clamped shut with a 'smack'.  
The sound bounced off the walls, echoing. Nonetheless, it was quickly engulfed by the noise coming from the back of the shop.  
He walked forward, passing past the rows of shelves of food and goods. He squinted, catching movement behind a stack of freshly piled rice bags. He could see the crown of someone's head; the silver hair gleamed like strands of string rolled up into a tight ball. As he stepped onto a loose floorboard, the woman looked up, alerted by the sound.

"Hell-hello? Anybody there?"

Mugen threatened to unsheathe his sword. His eyebrow twitched with the effort to contain himself, and the hand that continued to grip the handle pulsed. He pulled the sword an inch or so from its cover, before letting it slide back down with a cool slicing sound.

"Yea', customers."

With a burst of energy, the little woman approached from the twosome, appearing from the aisles in a blur of dust.  
She was short – small even in comparison to Fuu, but it was overlooked by her bright smile and surprisingly nice set of teeth. She looked old – old to t he point where there was no discrimination between little years. She adorned an old kimono. It was beautiful – once upon a time; but the calligraphy had faded and the embroidered threads had diminished against the silk material.

"My my, customers?!" she commented as she brushed herself down. "We haven't had customers for donkey's years."

"I can tell," Mugen replied dubiously as he took a final glance at the piled bags of old rice. He winced as Fuu elbowed him in the ribs before pushing past him.

"Sorry about him," she started with an apologetic laugh. The old woman had not gotten Mugen's insult and stared at Fuu blankly. The conversation died for a moment before being revived by the eighteen year olds nervous giggle. "So, we were wondering whether you had any… newi-sh supplies that we could take a look at?"

"Hmm, well, we have a few rice crackers and some dango that arrived not too long ago," the woman said thoughtfully, peering around the shop as she recalled where her stock was. "Its in the back," she said after a moments paused, and shuffled in the direction. She paused and a bony hand came to rest on her hip.

Fuu noticed her discomfort and placed a comforting hand on her back. "Don't worry. I'll go find it," she told her kindly before she scuttled off into the recesses of the last aisles to find the supplies. Mugen watched her go with a renewed look of interest plastered on his face. He gawped as the skinny girl offered to fetch the food. How come he didn't get some of that? Whenever he asked her to get food she'd complain about her not being a slave. And here this old broad gets it without having to ask!

It took him seconds at most before he realized that the shopkeeper had inclined her small form directly in front of him; her wrinkled face pressed up as high as she could towards his, only managing to reach the the bottom of his breastbone. Her light brown eyes were shining intensely; brimming with wetness, but not tears. She was old and the clarity of her eyes had faded, hidden behind the gunk that rested in the corners and the thin, milky thin that coated the sphere. Still, they seemed to brighten as they stared up at him.

"You… _you_…"

He took a step back.

"What, lady?"

"You're that boy – I know you. You came here years ago!" she continued, her accusations growing louder. Her voice was muffled by the sound of Fuu dropping something in the background.

"I don't know what you're on 'bout."

She continued regardless of his protests.

"Years ago, you came here. You needed food. I gave you some… and offered you a place to stay. You were gone the next thing I know," she told him, hoping that her story would remind him.  
Mugen's face remained expressionless, with only the faintest of twitches of his lips when he stared up to see where Fuu was. She was coming back down, her hands gripping a few packages of homemade rice cakes.

"Got the stuff!"

At the sound of Fuu's triumphant call, the old woman shrank back from Mugen's face, and rubbed her eyes fretfully. Fuu, once again was quick to off her a comforting pat, to Mugen's dismay.

"You alright?"

The woman cackled. It was meant to be happy, but it was that manacle laughter that old people could not seem to avoid in their age. The throaty growl mixed with a chortle sent shivers racing down Mugen's spine, though he disguised his discomfort with a snort.

"Oh, I'm fine dear. It is just this young man reminds me of someone I saw, years ago it seems now."

"Really?"

She gave another thoughtful nod and smile, clasping her hands together. "Yes, yes – before the shop was in the state it is in today; before trade with Satsuma was more open."

"It is not open any more?"

"God no, child, especially for shops like mine. Ever since there was a large raid on Satsuma's transport ship, they've been limiting their supplies… as you can see." She glanced calmly at her surroundings, huffing and muttering incomprehensible words under her breath. "It was an awful raid at that – so many lives taken; so many burning in the fires…" Her appearance lightened however, as she looked back at Mugen.  
"Not soon after the raids – before things got bad- a boy appeared. He looked a lot like yourself, but more ragged and wild – like he was itching for a fight!"

Fuu glowered skeptically at Mugen. He returned the glare avidly.

"Look, woman, I ain't this kid of yours-"

"I suppose you're right," she interrupted before he could continue. "My eyes are not as good as they used to be in my old age, and I seem to be constantly mixing things up! My apologies."

Before the conversation grew stale, the old shopkeeper deterred from their current topic, offering the pair a smile. "So," she began, turning to Fuu, "this man must be your brother!"

Fuu could not herself from recoiling at the comment; even under the surprised gaze of the shopkeeper and the death-stare she received from Mugen.

"_Eww_! No way is he my brother!"

"Oh! My sincerest apologies, once again!" She turned to Mugen. "So she is your girlfriend?"  
At this, Fuu snickered and blushed bashfully, unable to comment on her assumption verbally and simply shook her head in response. Mugen was far more articulate.

"That's _disgusting_."

Fuu's bony elbow collided his with side once more earning a laugh from the woman.

"Is that you two are going to take then?" She asked gently, indicating at the bags of goods with a nod of her head. Fuu replied with a quick yes just before Mugen retrieved the food from her hands, strutting towards the exit without another word.  
Fuu and the shopkeeper gawped.

"_Mugen_! We have to pay for those!"

Pausing, he twisted his face towards the pair; his silver eyes boring into the old woman's with a playful glint.

"I said we were customers. I didn't say we were _paying_ customers."

_Mugen was staring fiercely into their campfire. He ignored Fuu's prying gaze, and even the odd attempts to make conversation.  
The cracker crumbes were scattered around his mattress, his fingers littered with little shapes of the riceflakes that they had consumed for their dinner. The blanket was bunched around Mugen's lower torso, curling over his long legs with his feet peering out of the other side. He was comfortable - but the physical comfort he received could not negate the aching he felt in his mind, and a sudden heaviness that gripped his chest and weighed against his shoulders. He did not know what to make out of it, nonetheless, he assumed that tonight would be a night of fitful sleep and queezy unrest._

Fuu suddenly pulled herself from her sitting position, huddling her petit frame beneath the covers.

"Mugen?"

"What's it?"

"That boy the shopkeep was talking about..." She blinked up into the inky abyss of the sky, forgetting her words.

"What' bout him?"

"He was you... wasn't he?"

Mugen closed his eyes.

"Go to bed, Fuu."

Fuu just have a forced chuckle in response, turning her back towards him.

"Seems she wasn't as blind as she had made herself out to be."

* * *

**N O T E S** : A HUGE thanks to all my reviewers and subscribers! You're all so great and supportive. ITS MY B-DAY today, bytheway! xD  
Back to the story - I am so sorry this took so long for me to complete - its just work is really taking its toll on me, and I am grounded - sad, aye - so I cannot get onto the computer as much as I would like.

33

Yeah, so basically this is Mugen meeting another person who he had left along the way. This is more of a stepping stone post for the next, which will involve more dream seqences. ;

Coming up...

Two more dreams, and an arguement that breaks the pair in two. I shall say no more. Hehe. Hearts to you all!


	8. Chapter Seven

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Seven - End of the Road  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : A couple of more dreams marks the beginning of realisation.  
Well... that's all well and dandy, but Mugen can't do shitake-mushrooms about his past if his present is falling to pieces. Three days since they had entered  
the wood and no sign of a single road, a person let a lone a city! Mugen's gettin' a tad miffed by the fact that Fuu's leading is having him walking around in circles.  
Trees are starting to look familiar... and he is pretty sure he had seen that boulder a few paces back.  
But how long will it take till Mugen question's Fuu's leadership skills?  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

"Nekomi?"  
Mugen was surprisingly docile as he took his saunter down the worn planks of the terrace. The lamps were off in the rest of the estate and Mugen could only assume that the rest of the house was fast asleep. But Nekomi's room was equally as still.  
As he pushed against the shutter, his stomach fluttered as the entrance gave way to his touch to reveal the dark interior of the room. The anticipation of Nekomi's bright face beaming up at him was consumed by the ever present stillness of the quarter. And he needed this. He needed to see her.  
The tall boy looked malnourished and beaten up; as if he had been in some sort of midnight brawl that left faint traces of bruises along his knees and new scabs healing beneath tears of old fabrics. He loved it; loved the slight pain he received while he walked; the electric surge that pulsed up his joints from his war wounds. He needed Nekomi to minimize the lust for battle. He needed to be tempted from his own desires with the prospect of something greater even though the pragmatic side of him realized his state of delusion was only temporary and he would thirst for blood once more. Still, Mugen felt that it was necessary to see the girl before she headed off to Satsuma for another year – for his own selfish purposes and the fact that her company was sought-after.

But she wasn't there.  
Mugen's eyes glittered silver in the light, flicking back and forth across a desolate room. The clean floors had scratches littering the floor where furniture had been dragged across and odd dust spots lingered behind areas where the picture frames had lined the walls. Mugen focused his attention on the odd circle where the Sakura had been.  
He would have entered had he the control of his muscles. They flexed at their own accord and he soon felt beads of sweat form on his upper lip from simply staring into an empty room. Tuffs of hair soon slickened themselves to his face and he crept forward with eyes set downwards to watch the black of is shadow dissolve into the surrounding darkness.  
She had left – a day or two earlier than she said she said she would. Was she doing it purposely to avoid him? He splayed his fingers against his forehead, rubbing them against his taught skin. 

No, not her – she wasn't like the rest of them… she would not leave him.

But it seemed like that, didn't it? Mugen was not for romanticism and enjoyed the practicality that he encompassed in every day life. Now, his ability to think logically about things was failing him. He did not want to be right about this; or have the instinct to tell when he was rejected in all manners of the word.  
He trudged on, dragging his feet. He didn't care about the scrapping sound he made or whether anyone could even hear him. His listless movements brought him to the side of the table – the only article of furniture left to inhabit this room. As he placed a broad palm flat against the surface, his hand jumped immediately after it rested. The unexpected cold shot the nerves of his coarse skin.  
Glancing down, Mugen's face was crimpled as he stared through the thick of the night at the table, twisting his head from one side to the other to get all angles. Finally, a glimmer of light managed to bounce off the dark surface. Habit forced Mugen to pick it up without any further consideration and felt his mind detached from the problem at hand – though it only lasted seconds. As he drew back from the shadows to the entrance, his artificial principles plagued his line of thought. He constantly tried to remind himself, _"What would Nekomi do"_ in between his sudden bursts of hopelessness and anger. He was caught in a lope – listening for her words of advice to ring clear in his mind, before feeling isolated from any hope of glee with his friend no where to be found. Then, the anger would attach itself to the void of his longing and before it spilled over, he would once more question his antics with Nekomi in mind.

As the light of the moon was unleashed onto the ornament in his hand, Mugen felt the blood drain from his face; with only the hard pounding of his heart in his ears left in his head. He thumbed the soft outline of the bird pendant, observing elements of the pendant he had not seen in such detail since he had stolen it all those years ago.  
He clenched it tightly, his veins bulging with the effort to keep it locked in his hand. He wanted to throw it. To get it as far away from him as possible. On the other side of the spectrum he was battling not to hold it close to his heart. Both solutions he could not bare to execute.

In the darkness he was stranded.

In the light, he was uninvited

* * *

Straddling the lines of light with one food poised at the entrance, the other fixed within the realm of darkness, Mugen was motionless. He was powerless. And he really was _alone_. 

_He thought of her_.  
As he passed the Satsuma camp he could not help but stare up at the estate on hilltop. Two years and there was nothing. No sign of her.  
Two years, and Mugen still managed to trick himself into venturing here coincidentally during the same time Nekomi used to arrive on the shores of the island, without proposing in his mind that he was here for any other reason than the scenery.  
Angered by his thoughts, he trudged forwards, eyes focusing on the black stretch of sea. The moon was shrouded by thick clouds and a fog had settled over the terrain, bringing news of the coming rains. Mugen observed all this, nonetheless, his mind still failed to repress thoughts of the little Satsuma girl Mugen once knew.  
He spat at the ground in revulsion, furiously digging his geta into the yielding grains of sand. He didn't need anyone. If there was no one in his life, there would be no one to burden him; no one for him to hurt, or for them to betray. His mind drifted for an instance to Nekomi and his resolution wavered; tearing him between distaste and the mild conscience that had developed deep within the bowels of his mind. It was fading now. He could feel it sapped from his every being. He felt like a piece of clothing being torn away at the seems; the strings unraveling beneath him as every inch of what Nekomi had left him was deleted by the rage and primal instincts that had kept him alive for so long. It uncovered him – his true being and identity. And without the cover that Nekomi had helped weaved, he was unleashed upon the world without any bounds of restraint.  
It happened so quickly he was amused, grinning up into the night with a wild, deranged look about him. He had held onto something so weak and feeble for too long.  
Turning round, he was staring back into the camp. He no longer felt that misery when he stared into that Satsuma sanctuary. Rather, he had that rush of adrenalin like when he was in a fight – the only 'true' emotion that was real.  
But it was stronger this time – more acute and intense. He was already breathing heavily, peering at the entrance of the settlement at a flash of amour as a few guards came to patrol the entrance of the place. Reaching behind him, the sharp swift sound of metal could be heard as Mugen unsheathed his sword. 

A sword on this night would begin its journey to become on of the most infamous pieces of weaponry known to Shogunate warriors.

---

"If you are going to start some shit with me, I am gonna pay you back with interest."  
Mugen eyes were devoid of light; merely spheres that reflected the burning inferno around him as the huts of the settlements burned and smoldered.  
Mukuro's gun sounded, and Mugen sword was soon clashing against the side of his weapon.  
The pair stared each other down. 

"How bout it? Why not team up with me?"  
"Say what?"  
Mukaro's grin lengthened. "You and me, we're two of a kind. Both of us are loved by this hell we live in."

He wanted to say he had no idea what he was on about – Mukuro you stupid fuck, get the hell outt'a my way. But he couldn't. Not with the ugly face peering up at him so contentedly, knowing that he had nothing to prove that the two were not alike. The burning fires whose heat prickled at Mugen's skin reminded him that after what he had just done, he was truly as cold and ruthless as his 'brother'.  
"I don't work with anybody." 

In the end he complied. He knew he would to begin with, but fighting against what destiny proclaimed was something Mugen enjoyed best. He knew from the moment Mukuro asked "What're you afraid of" he was bound to become a pirate and follow in his evil footsteps.  
Out of fear, hate and desperation, he knew what he had to do. He had to find Kohza a way out of this hell; he had to get himself away from this wretched island.  
He promised himself, there in then, that this would be the last selfless act he would do for another person. Protecting Kohza through murder would remove the last shred of man from his body – erasing all traces of Nekomi from his heart and soul.

* * *

Mugen was there – on the night of the sugar-raid. There, participating, and watching his own form as it skated across the hull of the ship.  
The roaring of blood in his ears was deafening; even above the drone of screams and the angry howl of the wind as it battered the sails of the vessel. Mugen could see himself running; the short glimmer of his sword only visible for a few short seconds before it was sliced and driven from one sailor to another. He heard the strange resonance of Mukuro's gun above the cry of sailors – their voices swallowed by the night air – but it didn't stop him. He cut down soldiers like stalks of hay; not even acknowledging one face. Despite this, the anger coursing through him ceased to boil down – every man he killed did nothing to quench his voracious appetite for destruction. As the flames consumed the boat the cloud of haze that wafted from the floors beneath made it all the more exciting for the pirate as the few remaining soldiers flew at him from the depths of the smog. Then, one, he remembered managed to parry one attack. Mugen recognized the face in his dream – a face he had not once, in this life thought about. He saw now, the man's face had sunk with age; the hollows beneath his eyes and cheeks prominent as the harsh light of the fire played against his face. Mugen felt his body boom with pride as that face shrivelled in a look of confusion and pain as he drew his sword from his, and plunged it into his front. He heard Mukaro's voice above the roar of the sea… and his mind dispersed into a black screen. 

_Its morning now._

Mugen awakes before Fuu, just before the sun's surface pierced the horizon. But he cannot get up.  
He feelts sick, and his head throbs like he has had too much Sake...  
and he sees the face again, and recalls with a heavy heart...

Nekomi's father.  
He killed him that night, hadn't he?...

* * *

"Fuu, where the fuck are we?" 

"Mugen, language, please! And like I said for the hundredth time we are where we are. We are _not_ lost!" 

"Well we ain't being found either, girly!" 

"I know exactly where we are going," Fuu yelled back with an exasperated sigh. She no longer bothered to look over her shoulder at her companion who had retained his solemn, bad body façade since they had set out this morning. Now, two, or three hours before sundown she had seen nothing but woods, the worn tracks of animals and listened to Mugen's constant complaining for more than two days and Fuu was beginning to worry that her luck would run dry any second now. She could only fool Mugen for so long before he would guess that she had no idea where she was going. 

Finally glancing over her shoulder, she watched Mugen cautiously. He was unwashed and looked fiercer than ever; with sharp, grey eyes hidden behind thick tuffs of ebony hair. His posture likened to that or an emaciated bear, or monkey, with his toned arms swinging at the sides with the back of his hands practically dragging on the floor next to his feet. He was so bent and crooked that she wondered why he didn't collapse on his face there and then. Still, his comatose state did not fool the girl.  
Fuu bit her lip in appraisal, her brow twitching as Mugen's eyes focused on her. He cocked a brow in her direction, suspiciously eyeing the leader who was gawping in his direction. 

"Wah?" he grunted.

Fuu stammered and adverted her gaze to the front. "N-nothing!"

After a moments pause, she noticed that the gentle crunch of footsteps behind her had stopped.

"Do you really have any idea where we are going?"

Fuu was met with Mugen's piercing gaze when she turned to acknowledge him. He was standing by a tree, pressing one shoulder against the trunk for support. He was looking devilishly attractive, perched there – though Fuu would never openly admit it to herself. Had she never had the pleasure – or displeasure – to have met Mugen, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have been wooed by those mysterious eyes and toned abdominals…

"Fuu? Fuu…?"

"Huh?"

"You high girly?" Mugen asked in genuine concern. He didn't like the way Fuu was staring at him. He had seen that look before; when she had gone two days without food and there were was an all you could eat in the next town they reached. Jin and he had once decided that Fuu was half woman half pig.

"Oh, sorry, what did you ask?" 

"We are lost aren't we?" he exclaimed.

Fuu did not no what to say. She made indecipherable 'no's under her breath but was finally unable to lie any further, even at her own expense.  
Mugen groaned and gave her an awkward smirk. She caught herself starting once again, surprised by his amicable façade.

"Just tell me Fuu. We lost? I ain't gonna be mad. If we are we can just go back and ask for directions."

Fuu watched him warily. She felt uncertain of this intruder that had taken over Mugen. There was something about his gentleness that perturbed her, but also comforted her. It was the girl in her that enjoyed the idea of Mugen being more than a dumb brute that was not going to give her a black eye for… well… lying about everything.

"Just tell the truth."

"You… you sure you won't get mad?"

It seemed that that was the only hint of an answer that Mugen needed. With a sudden flurry of fury, his hand extended and bashed against the bark of the tree he had been leaning on. It shook voraciously and Fuu wondered whether the thing was going to topple over with the force of Mugen's punch. 

"Y-y-you said you wouldn't get mad!" she exclaimed, backing off as Mugen advanced.

"You said you knew the secret way to the damn town!"

"I do know, it's just-"

"What?"

"Igot-alittlelost," she said quickly, squeaking as she saw Mugen's face bloat and turned bright pink.

"Lost! Why the hell didn't ya tell me that?"

"Ididn't-wantyou-togetmad!"

"Good fuckin' job!" he growled, though his voice had reached his brink and no longer grew louder or more sinister. "If you'da told me that you didn't know the way I would'a ditched your ass days ago!"

Now it was Fuu's turn to get angry. Her own face seemed to expand, her body trembling before she exploded with a yelp that echoed through out the forest. Had it not been for thick growth of the canopy, such a booming voice would have traveled for miles on end.

"Oh _Yeah_!" she yelled back, slamming her shoed foot into the ground, causing the top soil to rise and scatter sparsely in the air around her ankles. The dust had already settled by the time she had gathered her thoughts and anger and projected them into her next sentence. "Traveling with you has been the worst time of my life! Jin would have never treated me so badly! I don't know why I bothered to help you get here!"

"Don't compare me to damn four-eyes, girly!" he warned her, obviously not giving a toss that Fuu had been miserable this entire time. He pouted, his ego pricked by the idea of Fuu comparing him to dojo-boy. He wasn't sure why he was so insulted by the fact she was referring to Jin. Why? Wasn't he good enough to be with her? Was Jin a more preferable traveling companion? 

Ouch. There it was again - another prick to his ego when his thoughts turned to Jin and Fuu. But proving loyal to his character, Mugen chose to continue with his fit of rage rather taking his thoughts to heart.

"And help me? Bitch, you're the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met," he stated smugly, watching as Fuu's face grew hotter. "And the only reason I let you stay is 'cause your desperate 'nuff to want to be with me."

He hadn't meant that she wanted to _be with him_ but that she simply wanted to tag along. He was too angry to acknowledge that Fuu had taken it the wrong way.

"You… idiot! You think that I… want… _with__you_?"

Mugen did not show it, but he was actually taken back by the way Fuu was wheezing; pointing her fingers shakily from her to him and repeating the gesture four or more times to help her comprehend what Mugen was suggesting.

"You… you… you! Of all people! You're even dumber than I thought!" she yelled, her cheeks turning another shade of red. She felt them burn; the skin tingling with the heat that radiated from her rage and embarrassment. Sure, she had looked him over a few times, but to think that he assumed that she would want him. It was sickening – indeed it was unlikely, but what infuriated Fuu the most was the more she considered it, the more the situation favored Mugen's assumption that she had a thing for him. 

In an unforeseen outbreak of resentment, she announced. "I have a boyfriend you know!" 

For seconds the pair were both still, staring at each other, waiting for the frenzy to die down, and the new revelation to sink in. Mugen appeared mystified for sometime, unable to retaliate; nonetheless, he still came up with some weak verbal protest.

"My ass. Who'd wanna date you?"

"He…he is so, so, there! And he is much better a fighter than you will ever be. He is a pupil in a dojo in Satsuma… and that's why I am really going to Satsuma!" she concluded, mildly amused by the fact that she was concealing her previous lies about knowing the way to the city by fabricating this imaginary boyfriend. She was really digging herself into a hole here, but so long as she was able to maintain these lies, there was no chance that Mugen was ever going to find out and use them against her. "He was hoping that I'd come see him soon. So when you came I decided it would be a great time to go – seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I see that I am unwanted..." Fuu said with an elegant brush-down of her kimono. "I'll take my leave."

As Mugen watched her amble off through the woods, he remained stationary, waiting… waiting for her to call her bluff and come back crying and whining. With each step she took away from him, his resolution melted, and soon, Mugen found himself bitching and moaning as he sprinted off after her. She would not have the last laugh.

"Better fighter than me? I'd like to see that, girly! Maybe I should challenge him to a match!" he spat once he caught sight of her once more. She pushed through regardless of his presence, head held high with hands gently pushing back the protruding branches to prevent them from snagging on her kimono.

"Oh really? Why? So you could kill him?"

"Yeah – cause you 'n I both know, that there ain't anyone better than me in the ring."

"Whatever Mugen – if you are proud of being a killer than its your problem. I couldn't care less."

Mugen jogged up to her side, forcing Fuu to look at him in the eye. He was fuming – inside he was bumbling and spewing. She could see it in those icy spheres that he was imaging her head on a spike or shoving that sword of his through her middle. She didn't care… not really. 

"My problem? I don't recall it being a problem when I saved your non-existent butt all those times!"

"That's… that's very different, Mugen!"

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is!"

The pair bickered like that without the slightest itching of the world around them. Completely consumed by their need to establish some sort of point that would make them superior in the conversation, they yelled and spat and hissed even until they were out of the woods into a clearing.

"No it fuckin' ain't!"

"Yes it is you idiot!" 

Out on the clearing on the road, a young traveler observed the two fighting, amused but intimidating by the show. However, he didn't hesitate to approach the pair who blocked the path to Satsuma. 

"And besides you're the reason we are stuck together!"

"Am not!"

"Are fucking-to! If you hadn't a lied about know the way to Satsuma we'd a reached it by now!" 

"I, I, am sorry to interrupt!" a third voice chimed.

"What?" Fuu and Mugen said in unison, casting their hateful glowers in the direction of the other traveler, causing him to shrivel up in fear of the two piercing gazes.

"I-"

"Don't interrupt! Can't you see we are busy?" yelled Fuu.

"Yeah', scram moron!"

He gulped and considered turning back, but gave it a final go.

"Guys… look up."

"At what?" Mugen huffed, briefly letting his sights wander from Fuu and the traveler to a sign post.

He read it outloud. "Satsuma… up ahead…"

"Wow you _can_ read," Fuu jived, rolling her eyes. "So what had that got to do with anything," she asked the traveler. "You've just interrupted a very important discussion and…"

By the time she acknowledged what she had just heard, she was swept off her feet and sent sprinting off in the direction set by the sign. Mugen hand was firmly attached to her arm, dragging her as he flew down the doggy highroad with his scrawny legs wheeling beneath him. He looked comical with one hand holding onto Fuu, the other flailing out as he gained as much momentum that was possible, driven by one word.

"Food… food… food."

* * *

**T I T L E** : Its impossible.  
Don't worry, I ain't quitting on you lovelies (again, 333 for all the comments and the favorites. Much obliged!) but it is just hell  
trying to do all this work and come and write the fic. Like I said before I ain't quitting, but I am just informing that my updates will not come as readily as they used you.  
I've already had to tell a dear friend of mine that I would not be able to role play as much as I would like with her, so this chappie is dedicated to Sky. ; -huggles-

-SPOILERS FOR THOSE THAT HAVE NOT WATCHED THE ENTIRE SERIES OF SAMURAI CHAMP.-

Either way, on with le story.  
I am sorry if the dream sequences - yes, they are indeed dream sequences are hard to follow; I tried to distinguish them as best as I could with the different alignements and the seperators. Originally, the first section is meant to lead on from Mugen's last dream (when Nek's all emo and like "zomg, i am leaving" ;;) with the second one taking place two years after. The second section comes as two halves (demonstrated by the ---) and that just depicts that scene in SC when Mukuro approaches Mugen when all the huts were on fire ('member loves?) The final one is on the sugar boat during the raid where Mugen is responsible for killing all those people and wounding one of the brothers whom Mugen has to face in the series' finale. He wakes up realising that one ofthe people hemurdered was Nekomi's daddy. -le sigh-

HOKAY! xD  
Musical inspiration; I listened to Switchfoot - Always Something(recommend it lovies) for the dream sequence.  
And for the present scene I believe I listened to Orson - No Tomorrow, constantly. Hehe.

**C O M I N G . U P **:We'vedone it - we've arrived.It's evening in the port-side city of Satsuma, and Mugen and Fuu have decidedthat their stomach's come before their differences.  
Looking for a nice little place to spend their loot,it seems thattheduoarn't resting for toolong.  
Such is the life of acriminal turned hitman. 


	9. Chapter Eight

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Eight - The Eventful Stay  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : A mini interlude.  
They had arrived, but to Mugen's disappointment things do not slow down from there!  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

Six in the evening and the sun was already drifting beyond the bed of clouds; off for a wistful sleep. Back home, it would be the same for Fuu and her fellow villagers; sunset marking the ends of the day and time to rest their weary heads on the pillows of their futons.  
In Satsuma, it was a completely different occasion.  
The streets seemed more alive than it had been from a distance; with people streaming from large ornate homes as the sun lost its potent sway. It was enough to do your head in as individuals swarmed past in visions of brightly blurred colors; the sound of chatter trickling into ones ear as excited groups marched on by. Everything felt so new and fresh that Fuu's senses were overwhelmed. Everything excited her; from the vivid world of culture she had immersed herself in, with their strangely drawn homes and shops and beautiful designs and banners that were hung overhead the many stores that lined the streets.  
Carriages and passenger carriers whizzed by on the open streets, thundering across the rickety pathway of the warn roads. Fuu gleefully trod harder on the ground simply to hear and feel the strange texture of the street beneath her. It was all so new and brilliant that the young country girl was swept away in a sea of luxury that was Satsuma.

Since they had burst through the city gates, Mugen had finally slowed into a leisurely gait, no longer speeding ahead with her flowing behind him like a wet noodle though his hand had refused to leave her wrist. It still clung to her, wrapped around like some strange bracelet. Fuu's eyes drifted from Mugen to the sidewalk in front of him, trying to read his dead-pan features. It was as hopeless as it had always been. His cold gaze gave nothing away; not even the lightest hint of anger she would have expected to shine through those silver eyes. The only thing she noticed was the prominent jut of his lower lip for which she had never been able to determine its hidden meaning.  
He was listless next to her and Fuu endeavored to alert him of the fact he was still attached to her.

"You're still holding me," she told him, mustering as much stubbornness and detachment in the voice that she could collect. Oddly, when Mugen's gaze flickered to meet hers, she felt her stomach twist into a knots; her heart giving the faintest flutter against the precincts of her ribcage. He noted the way he glanced down the length of her arm down to her wrist, but apparently dismissed it. Fuu fancied that he only gripped her tighter and that thought alone made her body jitter. Something was definitely up. She was sick or catching a cold; they were the only explanations.

"There's a bar up-ahead. Think we should go get s'me food."

"And you know this because…" she growled, eyeing him skeptically. Fuu was expecting that this knowledge was based on past experiences here in Satsuma. Her face burned scarlet, the cause of it, unknown.

"Because I can read," came his reply as patient as it ever got from the vagabond. He pointed a long finger at the sign that hung over the opening to a quaint building, the scribbled writing reading quite simply, "Bar."

Fuu's cheeks smoldered to a new heights of red while she voiced her embarrassment under her breath, allowing herself to be dragged into the premises of the tavern.

Inside, the humidity hit the pair like a wave; the stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze leaving Fuu sweating in the confines of her silk kimono. She hastily wiped her brow as she trekked further within, finding that she was the only one bathed in perspiration. The few occupants were all calmly enjoying their drink, obviously used to the dense air of the bar. Mugen was as comfortable as they were, the only indication that his body responded to the change in temperature being the odd droplets that beaded his upper lip.  
His firm grasp finally detached itself from her arm and he moved towards the counter table without Fuu. It was instinct on her part to leave Mugen to his affairs. The young waitress had sense enough in her to leave a fighter to business – especially if someone as unreliable as Mugen was willing to travel diligently to Satsuma to complete whatever task he was assigned to. As he called the bartender over, Fuu surveyed the scene with, focusing her attention on whatever demanded it – hurried movements by drunks giggling in the corner, a few shuffles and screeching chair legs while others settled themselves into a seat. Even the scratchy sound of the bartender's beard when he rubbed his thick fingers over them drew Fuu's eyes towards him. As Mugen spoke she was expecting to pick out the beginnings of a discreet conversation; a few code words, a fretful glance here and there. Rather, her companion boldly tapped the counter, placing a few copper colored coins onto the surface which was collected by the bartender. He in turn replaced it with his own currency – a small bottle of sake.

Fuu growled and stormed towards him, irately poking his shoulder.  
"Mugen, what are you doing?" she hissed, loudly enough to interest the other customers. One in particular, Fuu could tell out of the corner of her eye, a cloaked figure was watching them – intently. Although she could not see her face, she could feel eyes burning behind the shadow of her hood into her. She was too angry to pay attention – too preoccupied with scolding her guardian for his lack of commitment to his task. Her ability to reprimand him returned to its fullest potential as the figure Fuu had noticed earlier, removed itself from the table and wandered to the counter to pay.  
"You should be _working_," she reminded him with another forceful prod, which cause Mugen to dribble some of the sake from the corner of his mouth as he took a gulp from the bottle. The bartender excused himself quite rapidly to tend to the hooded person who lingered by the counter, sharing a few words before excusing itself. As it turned, Fuu caught sight of her. Her lips were roughed and skin was painted an ethereal light which burned under the gentle candlelight of the tavern before disappearing behind the cloth of the entrance. It was a quick glimpse that left Fuu stunned and strangely anxious. Mugen naturally, erased her fear in seconds.

"'I'm 'mungry, thirsty, 'n wanna relax for a bit, Fuu," he grumbled after downing the remains of his sake. He flagged the bartender down for another bottle, but as he approached he came with only two pieces of paper gripped in his clumsy hands.  
"Sir, this-this is a gift from a-a woman who-"  
Mugen did not need to hear the explanation.  
"Woman? What woman?" Mugen asked with a handsome smirk, "who wants some Mugen?"  
Fuu snatched the small papers from the man, impatient with her partner's lack of finesse. She cocked a brow as she read the letters imprinted on the front.

"Theatre tickets?" She was skeptical and glowered at the bartender. He only smiled, nonetheless his eyes were everywhere but on her. "Theatre tickets to the Forty-seven Ronin?" she asked.  
The bartender flagged her down. "Shush. You shouldn't say that so loudly!"

"Wha? Why not?" Mugen asked."  
"Those are prized tickets. This play has been sold out since the beginning of the season! Only members of the government here could purchase any spare tickets. Many are willing to go to the extreme to get their hands on one of those things!" He reached out and touched Fuu's hand, curling her fingers over the pieces so that they remain hidden. "Who ever gave them to you must really want you there," he told them, though Fuu had the impression that the man was addressing her more than Mugen. His dark eyes betrayed his concern and again, Fuu thought of the woman beneath the heavy robes of her cover.

"Mugen, are you sure we should go to this thing?"  
He scoffed. "Yeah, course we're going!"  
"But you don't even like theatre!" she complained, hoping he would reconsider. However, it appeared Mugen's resolve was absolute.  
"You can stay around here if you want. The play is on in'a bit and I'm gonna go."

She wouldn't understand why he wanted to go so badly. Mugen was sure of it. Either way, this was where the mark was going to be – if he could keep Fuu oblivious of this fact, the easier it would all be.

"How'd we get there?" Mugen inquired, turning his cold gaze to the bartender who exhaled heavily in response. It looked like he and Fuu shared the same fears, but neither was prepared to argue with a stray dog.

**N O T E S : **Sorry its taken so damn long to get this min-chapter up! Been uber busy guys - exams are over on the 08th of June so you can expect updates from then.  
The next chapter is the turning point. Its gonna be a long one! xD


	10. Chapter Nine

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Showtime  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : Its show time.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters. Pft. D'you think I'd be here if I owned Mugen? xD

They headed off straight after they were given the directions, much to Fuu's distress

They headed off straight after they were given the directions, much to Fuu's distress. She whined, she moaned and she stamped her foot like a little infant and even sat down in the middle of a busy street, but Mugen did not even grace her with any form of attention – he pretended like she did not even exist. His steel will was put to the test as the girl played all her irritating cards.

The directions were made easy by the mass flow of people heading towards one situate. The wealthy carrier owners fanned into the main road on their way; elegantly dressed for the occasion. Theatre had blossomed in this time and for the Satsuma residents, it was an event to celebrate. That was what Fuu had derived from the situation. Since she had grown up in a small town and had settled in another peaceful village, theatre was limited to a few street performances and a traveling crew once in a blue moon. Nonetheless, her lack of experience did not mean she did not feel the thrill of attending such a grand affair. Her fingers tingled with anticipation. The dread of her attending this prearranged event was minimized by the waves of excitement that gripped her limbs when she saw the hoards of animated crowds and the radiance of what looked like hundreds of lit lanterns glowing around the bend of the street.

"Mugen, this is so beautiful," she breathed, unwittingly growing closer to her companion until her delicate hands brushed against him, almost threading itself along side his own fingers. Mugen's indifference was rocked by the small gesture. His mask was fractured by the twitch of his eyebrow and the subtle sidelong glance he gave to Fuu. She was unperturbed and did not notice how her hands brushed against the bandit's. In an instance they were retracted; tiny hands which had flushed pink from excitement, coming up to pull the pair of chopsticks that held up her hair.

"I've got to look better," she told herself out loud, while fixing her sights on the groomed company they had found themselves in.

Mugen simply snorted in response to what he believed would be a futile to improve her appearance.

"Please, like it would do anything to help you."

If Mugen was not a stubborn person, he would have betted otherwise. If Mugen was not a stubborn person he would have conceded to defeat and admitted that when Fuu's hair bounced down from its restrains, that he glanced over in her direction. Had he thrown his pride out the window, Mugen would have told her she looked pretty. Nonetheless, he huffed and pushed forwards while Fuu fiddled with her chocolate hair.

"Stupid girl."

When the pair of them finally pushed into the opening of the theatre, even Mugen forgot his pride and apathetic opinion of the upper-class as they were engulfed by caliber of their surroundings. Crab and Satsuma's renowned fish-stock dishes littered the tables though there were noticeable patches where the guests had consumed the dishes. They were supposed to have arrived earlier to eat, nonetheless, the loss of food did not deter Mugen – he was more desperate than ever to gorge himself on the remains.  
Fuu held her hands close to her lips and surveyed the scene. There were so many people in one area that she became nervous, no longer impressed by their jewelry or fancy clothing. She looked for a familiar face, though she knew she would never find one. In her mind she could only see the shape of the woman in the bar; those heavy robes and rouged lips burned into her thoughts.

"I don't think we should be here," she said quickly. "This could be a trap, or that person could want to hurt you in some way."  
Turning around when she did not receive Mugen's reassuring – yet generally oppressive - response to her fears, her eyes caught his form buried within two pairs as he forced himself to a table, shoving handfuls of food into his mouth. The vagabond looked possess as he guzzled down the small portions of sake before ramming a few prawns and rice pads into his mouth with no interest of sampling the flavors on his tongue. The disappointed glowers he received from their affluent company was enough to force Fuu to draw herself close to Mugen and pull him by his fluffy black mane back to the center of the reception room, before promptly grabbing an ear for a better grip.

"What are you doing you, baka?" she growled into the ear she was holding, giving an extra hard squeeze on the bone. Mugen howled in distress.

"You flake!" was the only retort he could come to as he concentrated on the searing pain. It felt as if he had poured boiling hot water all over his face from the vice like grip the little minx held him by.  
Regardless of his moaning, Fuu dragged her partner to the reception, angrily handing her tickets to the doorman before slipping inside to find their first class seats. She could hear the utterances of displeasure from other the gentry, but she silenced most of them with a heartfelt glare. With Mugen squirming in her grasp and the aristocrats snubbing them, Fuu was not a happy camper. On top of it all, there was the sinking sensation of dread weighing her down as she pressed onwards, shoving Mugen onto the seat with her following gracefully onto the chair next to him. In a flash, his hands were fighting to touch every inch of his abused ear. It throbbed and burned with a fury, yet it was a smoldering flame in comparison to the inferno of his rage from being torn from his meal by a silly little infant.

"You bitch!" Mugen growled, having to clench his earlobe in fear of letting go and ringing Fuu's skinny neck. She was unperturbed by the tone of his voice and fiddled with her hair, arranging each strand in accordance with her simple parting. "Why the hell do'you do that for?"

"You looked like a rabid pig, Mugen," Fuu replied with a twitch of her brows as she recalled the image of the urchin bent over the table grasping for food and drinks. "It is positively undignified. You were lucky that I stopped you before you got us thrown out!"

"They wouldn't have," Mugen began, ready to defend his point as always.

"And what if they did? Some job you'd have."

The reminder of his mission silenced Mugen in a heartbeat. He recoiled and dropped his hands from his wounded ear. It continued to burn, however, the pain neutralized the anger that simmered within him. He pouted, and folded his back into the plush chair.

"They wouldn't have dared…" Mugen grumbled dejectedly, distracted from his whining as the lantern lights glimmered and the room became dark. The show had begun.

Like a dog on the prowl, Mugen propped himself up; alert and enlivened as he stared down into the stage. The masses of people that filled the theater were dark specks gilded by the lights that seeped from the stage and the members that shared the upper floors with them, faded into the backdrop.  
Cautiously, Mugen rolled his eyes to the side, watching Fuu.  
She nibbled on her lips in excitement, and peered down expectantly over the waves of heads spread out beneath them. Her small arms propped her over the rail that contained them, while her legs fidgeted and shuffled beneath her small frame to find a comfortable position.

Mugen was careful not to allow a pronounced grin to slip onto her lips. The sight of Fuu enjoying herself was not something he should find pleasurable in any sense of the word.  
"I cannot wait to see this," she murmured to Mugen. Her head was inclined towards him; nonetheless, she could not bear to tear her eyes from the scene that would unfold.  
Women were easily distracted, Mugen decided. One moment Fuu was abusing him, the next, enveloped by her next fixation.

"It is about forty-seven warriors, Fuu: It's bloody, gory, and… bloody. I don't think you'll wan'na really see this."

"I don't care. I love the theater."

Mugen was sure that the girl had only been to the theater twice in her life and on both occasions he was present. However, he could not find it within him to point that out to her.

"You would much rather see some other romantic play with your boyfriend, ne?" Mugen reminded. Fuu gave no outward response. "I bet you would rather be somewhere other than the theater if you were with him-"

"Shush," Fuu said timidly, brushing her fingertips against his arm. Again, her eyes never left the stage and her fingers were placed back onto her lap. "The show is about to start."

It did not start for another ten minutes. But they didn't talk. They had no need to words or idle prattle.

The story was indeed gory within points. Stories that had death, violence and suicide within them were generally considered as such to the innocent Fuu. It was the sadness however, that got to her – the dedication of the forty-seven ronin samurai to their departed master that touched Fuu. The action was vivid; the moments tender, and Fuu understood why the tickets were so rare a find. Around her, she could hear the distant sobs of women as men were killed and order restored. Fuu was not among them. The death and destruction that ensued prevented her from bleeding tears like the rest of them.  
Rather, she observed the show in perfect silence, even when the forty-seven ronin were made to kill themselves for the crime of honoring their master.

Mugen had been impressed by her strong stomach. There was brilliant fighting which had him tingling to pull out his sword purely to hear the slice of metal against its sheath; for the surge of power and adrenaline that pulsed through him whenever he held his weapon in his hand. Mugen was glad when the lights dimmed and the odd rustle could be heard from the stage. Being cooped up in one location for so long made him long for the outdoors, and coupled with the excitement of the fighting, he was determined to leave the theater and practice his swordplay. However, there was one last surprise in store.

On stage, the music started. The live performers were no longer bashing on o-daiko drums and playing frantic music from the heat of battle. A sweet melody lifted from the nokhan flutes and the shamisen. Mugen was surprised that he was engrossed by such a frail melody and that his conscience was tugged from searching the rows of people for his victim, to turning towards the stage. The lithe frame draped in the finest silks one could use for the kimono, swayed on stage like a bird. Its graceful arm gestures were in perfect sync with the playing degatari and Mugen from his place could not hear its clothes ruffle from its movements. He felt his breath caught in his chest as he remembered, but could not recall. He saw ideas, memories, which he could not be sure was real; which he could not accept were real without the comfort of him being asleep. Mugen threaded his hands through his hair and blocked it out (she is dancing again and he feels her rush into her arms in a fit of giggles, "I am leaving, Mugen.") and yet, he sees her when he opens his eyes, dancing on the stage before him. The melody is just like the one she hummed to her fragile movements; the dance she had always dreamed to perform on stage when she was still a girl.

He could feel Fuu's eyes burning holes into the side of his face, but there was nothing to say – nothing he could do in self-defense. It was all too sudden for him to mask his surprise.

"Mugen, are you okay?" Fuu was touching him again, tracing the lining of bone of his clenched fist tenderly. Her concern intensified when Mugen did nothing.  
"Mugen… Mugen, what's wrong," she whispered with a tug on his finger. "You're scaring me, you dope…"

"That dancing girl…"

"Dancing boy," she reminded him gently. "Girls are not allowed to the theater."

He saw it now: the jaw that was too sharp; the nose that was too large. He oozed masculinity from his broad shoulders with no due compensation made for his breasts. The kimono was tight in all the wrong places, and yet, he continued to lean over the banister with his eyes flickering at every motion as if to capture it in memory. The heart sees what it wants to see – and he saw the scrawny little girl that abandoned him on the island.

The dance was finished before Mugen could appreciate it, and he sighed as he was deprived of the hypnotizing music and the complimenting dancer.

The lights of the lanterns were lit once more, and the theater was at last, drowned in the gentle glow of the candles. A gentleman was poised in the center of the stage, and his hands were raised in the direction of one of the private booths that ran adjacent to ones own. Mugen leaned forward to hear the softly-spoken man, though his eyes watched as the dancer slipped behind the reels of curtain to the backstage.

"To our honoured guest… om… we have dedicated… short piece… to… hu… work. From Nu theater… we… present our dance…"

"What did he say?" Mugen snapped at Fuu. His instincts were stimulated by the interval. For some reason, he felt this was it – this was what he was supposed to listen to; as if the announcement was dedicated to him instead. Nonetheless, everyone had their head turned away from Mugen into the booth picked by the presenter. He soon was attracted by the sudden movement of someone in one of the private seats. She rose, along with her handmaids behind her and bowed her head deeply – more than a woman of her caliber should. Her dark hair came tumbling in front of her face before she brought herself to full height. Her eyes were brimming with warmth and gratitude as she held the presenter's gaze, and her sincere smile was testament to the depth of appreciation she felt.

"Thank you, so very much," she said. Her voice was soft, but carried throughout the theater. "My husband would be most grateful for your tribute." The host bowed in response and with that, the audience began to shuffle and disperse from their seats. Only Mugen remained seated and Fuu beside him. Like a hawk, he followed the woman's movements as she turned from the stage, half her face buried in her hand while she stood. He noted how her face was streaked with moisture, and her eyes were red from tears which had been stopped for the short thank you. She was paralyzed to the spot though there was nothing in her way. Her handmaids were huddled before her, patiently.

"Nekomi-san, we must be going home. Your carrier is outside the backroom."  
"Ah, yes, I must have forgotten myself, again," she said with a friendly smile. Composed next to the tears which had yet to fully dry from her eyes, she looked stronger than one could imagine. Her brave grin and welcoming demeanor erased the traces of concern from her handmaids' faces and they parted to the sides to allow their mistress to pass ahead of them.

Mugen rose toot-suit from his chair and pushed past Fuu blindly. She yelped in defense and yelled for Mugen's return, nonetheless, in the haze of his unconscious behavior he slipped through the entrance without a word. She lingered behind out of confusion, but soon sped after Mugen when the certainty of her being alone overcame her uncertainty over his behavior.

It was a difficult passing. Mugen made no apologies as he fought his way through the closing waves of people; pushing past men and women that walked together as if they were joined at the hip to reach the entrance of the theater. It was when the warm blast of air hit him as he stumbled into the street did Mugen stop to dwell on the situation. He reviewed what he saw – of a girl dancing, of a woman crying – and failed to distinguish between the two. In a rage he slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead and cursed. He knew somehow, somewhere, that it was stupid – that he should turn back, and yet, he was running into the dark alcoves of the alleyway in search for the back passage that he had heard mentioned in the conversation. His geta clicked angrily against an even path as he leapt over rubbish and unearthed stones in search for his prize; his memory. As he approached the light at the end of the alley he could hear girlish laughter and the resonance of excited speech. When the time came to round the corner the view of the small one-person carrier came into view; the two aforementioned handmaids flanking each side of the opening. Their mistress came elegantly down from the theater towards them, with her head bowed and her fingers intertwined in reels of her silken kimono. It was her. It had to be her. What drove him to run towards her, Mugen could not understand. He felt a desire to prove his illusions wrong; to erase the past from his present. It could be said that it was his motive; however, more than that, it was the thought of being incorrect that had him bounding towards the woman with his hands reaching for the luminous surface of her skin and the vibrant surface of her clothing.

Everything slowed except his mind. His motor functions were determined to touch her; to hurt, while his eyes absorbed the sight of her handmaids with their mouths open wide as saucers and the surprised look of their lady as her bright eyes held his in a cradling embrace. But it was over in seconds. There was a clunk, and the pair of jade hued eyes faded behind a sinking darkness that painted over his line of sight. Sound finally returned to him before his senses failed. The screams of pain droned in his mind, followed by the whisper of a gasp from the woman – from Nekomi; from the little girl. Then nothing.

Just nothing.

**N O T E S** : Wow! Exams are finished and I think I shall dedicate some more time to fulfill the requests of my reviews! Thank you all for your support and wow – 50 subscribers to the story and over 8700 hits! Damn! Thank you thank you thank you!

Now. Songs that inspired were all pretty mellow music – All I Need, Radiohead, and Blue, by A Perfect Circle were the most notable.

Well, coming up…

The story title: Nekomi. ; Lets keep it simple, aye?


	11. Chapter Ten

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Ten - Nekomi  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : Mugen wakes up after what he thinks is just part of a sequence of crazy dreams he has been having. Turns out that his past has come meet his present and  
his dreams are his only escape from this living nightmare.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

There was light.

He could tell there was from the way his eyeballs rolled in agony to avoid the rustic red glow that coated his lids like a splash of paint on a canvas. Sometimes it would fade to black, as figures toiled and moved in front of him.

He was awake; nonetheless, he could not coordinate his movements. A hand pressed to his arm would remind him of the appendage that was attached to him, or the odd flutter of air across his torso outlined his muscled form. Mugen lay like this for sometime – alive and well in his mind, yet numb to most of his body. It was surprisingly easy for him to remain dead to the world. He had no fears, no qualms and absolutely no clue where he was being held – but it was all the more a comfort that he was blissfully unaware. He could scarcely imagine what bad hand fate had dealt him.

"Miss, miss, I beseech you to throw this trash out!" Around him, the thunderous voice pierced his senses and sent sparks flickering across his eyelids from the sheer trill of the woman's pitch.

"Kali, I _beseech_ you, to keep your voice down for the gentleman," came a hushed reply to the other's request. Mugen felt the light blocked from his line of sight as a cool darkness swept over his features. He heard the floorboards creak to the right of him, close to where he was sure his arm lay splayed across the ground. There was a cold touch to his brow which brushed back his sweat-slicked tendrils from his face, followed by a warning growl from someone a few paces away.

"Gentleman?" There was an angry rattle of paper. "He is no gentleman – just some commoner who I was told, rushed out to grab you last night! I cannot believe you would let a vagabond into your husband's home so readily!"

"My father's home," was the curt response. Mugen could feel fingers stiffen against his forehead at the woman's audacious speech and apparently, she had realized her faults and prepared a more civil approach to the matter.

"Miss. You cannot bring unknown people into this place. Think of your safety! With your husband gone on business there is no telling who will come to attack you!"

"But he is not just anyone," the softly-spoken woman protested, removing her icy digits from Mugen's skin. "I know this man. He is no thief!"

"Bah! Look at his wrists, ma'am! Look at the prison marks! If anything he is a convicted criminal if not a run-in-the-mill thief! I cannot take the risk! As your secretary I cannot-"

"Jeeze lady, do you ever shut up?" Mugen drawled when he could no longer stand the whiny tones of his captor. His head lolled in the direction of the woman poised by his side, giving a strange simper when her hands returned to his head. He did not enjoy being petted, nonetheless, as the ache returned to his head and the movement to his body, he was not in the mood to protest against the attention.

Cranking one eye open he was not surprised that everything was blurred by the usual morning fog. The light streamed around him, smearing the vision of wooden banners and creamy walls in a haze of color. As he blinked, the figure that had tended to him manifested out of the distorted shapes that made up his eyesight. He saw that her hair was up in a messy bun, and her large eyes were peering down intently into his; nonetheless, as he opened his mouth to address her, only one name came to mind.

"Fuu?" he croaked, reaching up to soothe his eyes with the back of his hand. His narrow face was drawn unattractively against his hand as it snaked over his features, though in moments the shapes stilled and his vision was complete.  
The face had not stopped smiling and the eyes refused to leave his. Her cheeks were drawn upwards and small wrinkles had framed the corners of her eyes, complimenting her amiable façade. The morning light had doused her fair skin in a healthy olive complexion and the rosy pout of her lips were stretched into a thin line against the broadness of her grin. Mugen felt threatened by the menacing smile and happy disposition – after all, he had never seen this woman in his life and here she was, like a grinning idiot. He tried to move away, but was stopped.

"Kali, please run downstairs and fetch the girl, and make sure to send a handmaid up with some water and rice," she told the other, keeping her hand pressed determinedly against the sore spot of Mugen's head. The shock of pain paralyzed him as soon as he tried to scramble away from her touch.

"Please, be still, Mugen," she told him, trailing her digits through his tangle of black spikes.

The boy in question looked towards her, taking in his surroundings as he did so. He was resting on a mattress – similar to the one Fuu had made him sleep on during their journey – in the middle of a spacious bedroom. It was amber in color; with thick, mahogany beams supporting the ceiling before melting down into light wooden floorboards. The desk in the far corner was relatively plain next to the vivid paintings of the Satsuma Ocean that hung above it, as was the large futon that peaked behind the narrow shoulders of the woman. The screen doors on one side were pulled open to allow the sunlight passage into the quarter, along with the faint drone of a Satsuma crowds bustling outside. He guessed they were close to the docks. For the faintest second there was the memory the islands; waking to the gusts of salty waves and the course feel of sand against the surface of his cheek, but they faded against the feathery strokes of nimble fingers.

"Who're you?" Mugen grumbled, groggily batting the hand away from his face. He missed, but she got the idea and pulled away.

"I am not Fuu," she told him with a hint of laughter, "and I should been offended that you have called me by another girl's name."

Mugen heaved himself into a sitting position with his elbows, huffing with the effort as he dug his forearms into the floor to lift his upper body from the ground. The woman's face was contorted with concern, nonetheless she learnt quickly that it was not her place to try and aid a stray dog.

Timidly she sat back onto the balls of her feet, with her palms flat against her thighs. As if all the happiness had been drained from her life, a solemn, drawn expression took hold of her features.

"You… really do not remember me?"

"No, and why should I?"

The woman quickly backtracked. "There is no reason you should," she whispered, "but I remember you, Mugen." Her hands looked ready to make a grab for him again; nonetheless she was wary of Mugen's antisocialism and refrained. "You have not changed."

"You have, Nekomi," came the hit-man's livid comeback. His eyes were infested with a deep remorse as he studied what he saw before him. It was reading a book he had memorized from front to back; the shock that filled her eyes with relief and hope, the pale lips that parted in a half-baked smile. Nekomi had changed, but behind the woman were traces that he could never ignore or forget.

"So you do remember who I am!"

"No, I never said that!"

Nekomi was undeniably confused and in the heat of her bewilderment and Mugen's passive behavior, the woman thumped a fist against her thigh and raised herself off the comfort of her heels.

"You said my name, Mugen! How can you deny it?"

He looked disgusted as he held her gaze. The tips of his dark hair hung low into his eyes and a purple bruise had spread like cancer off the side of his cheek where he had fallen to the ground. Again, he tried to move; dragging his feet close to his chest, exploring the infinite pains that tormented the rest 

of his body. She was imploring him to explain with her delicate expressions – as if she could not comprehend what would force him to act more strangely. Her inability to fess up and face the fact that she betrayed him – _because she knew, she knew exactly that she did_ – was forcing Mugen into another pitiful rage.

"I knew a Nekomi – once. You are not the girl from my memories."

As he had predicted, his keeper held fast to her upbringing and failed to argue her point further. She was too polite to say anything that would cause any further damage to an already torn and fragile situation. However, when the silence pressed leaving both persons praying for the promise of some sort of exchange, Nekomi could bare the grunt of Mugen's response no longer.

"If I am not, then why did you follow me last night?"

"Because…"

Distracted by a boisterous chirp, Mugen shot a glare in the direction of the futon to where a cage hung from the ceiling. There were golden bars, containing the recognizable sight of a bird hung from a branch within the gilded pen. It bobbed its head and waggled its feathers in response to the boy's gawping. The boy in question was not impressed by its antics, though he did not think about throwing his dagger at the pest considering it saved him from what would be a humiliating verbal defeat.

"That thing is still _living_?" he asked Nekomi with a bitter undertone.

Nekomi did not answer immediately. Her cheeks puffed in preparation to ask Mugen again why he stalked her to her carrier. Even so she did not possess the dire need to pursue a question that was brought up to help the flow of what was a stagnant conversation. Now that the verbal responses were flowing from Mugen, it was best that her question be saved for a time when they were not at war with one another.

"I am surprised you remember her."

"Some things are difficult to forget," Mugen said while he rested his chin against the protrusion of his bony kneecap. His brows were low, casing his eyes in a scowl. "People, friends, enemies… they leave imprints on you… _scars_ that never seem to fade."

"Mugen… I..."  
  
"MUGEN!" The name had yet to die from Nekomi's lips before it was echoed in a voracious squeal behind her. The sliding door which had been so carefully shut in the exit of the whining older woman, Kali, was slammed to the side by Fuu. Her skinny arms were stretched so that each palm was flat against the edge of the door – possibly for the best since it stopped the screen fabric from tearing right off its vibrating frame. She had not bathed from the appearance of her once pasty skin. On her face there were traces of grime and soot but it was minimal in comparison to the patches of mud that were worn across her kimono as if they were part of the flowery tapestry.

Mugen was borderline tempted to ask his little traveling buddy what had happened to her. Ideas of her being put into a brothel, getting into a brawl were some of the usual circumstances he thought Fuu had managed to get herself into while he was unconscious. The idea of him not being able to protect Fuu simply because he managed to injure himself on a stupid whim fueled his anger for the woman who he was foolish enough to believe, could be the girl that left him on that hell-hole of an island. He shot a cold look at Nekomi and was prepared to verbally duel with his opponent… despite the fact that it would have been easier to initiate had Nekomi been staring in his direction.  
Rather, she was gawping at Fuu with a cordial smile that was so distinctive of the aristocrat; a hand gestured towards the open floor opposite her so that she may examine her wounded partner. Mugen had three faces: anger, indifference and confusion, and even with only three masks at his disposal he had difficulty wielding them; he looked stupid when he was meant to be indifferent and angry when he was confused – it rarely worked out well. And there was Nekomi – always composed; never alarmed and gracefully accepting whatever situation was thrown at her with a grin.

And Fuu… well, Fuu was never fond of masking her emotions.

"Oh gosh you've finally woken up!" she said with an exasperated sigh while she trotted to Mugen's side, catching his supporting arm in a hug. Although she looked a mess, Mugen recognized the fact that Fuu still smelt clean and her erratic hair – despite its appearance – was soft against his skin. As they shared a moment to study each other's features, Fuu's face against the porcelain flesh of Nekomi was worn from a restless sleep. She did not have a radiance that Nekomi mimicked using makeup; or the supple, pouting lips that the waitress had worked diligently to maintain. One night and Fuu was unraveled? It was a pity that he could not keep his observations to himself.

"Geeze, girly – you look like death today! What the heck happened to you?"

Their fifteen seconds of tolerance was up. Smacking him mercilessly on his torso, Fuu's expression darkened until everything about her screamed exorcism.

"Well at least I look good occasionally Mugen, which is the least I can say for you!" Again, there was another urge in Fuu to beat the invalid by jabbing a finger into his side. "And you see what happens when you run off like some lunatic? You just left me to chase after God-knows-what without giving me a hint about what you were doing! I swear you were possessed that evening – like you had seen a ghost!"

At Fuu's description Nekomi shuffled uneasily behind the quarreling duel. Mugen felt the change in her demeanor, but nothing could interrupt Fuu from her rant – even the arrival of a handmaid, and the mistress, Kali from the open screen door.

"And then, after running through lord-knows-what, I saw you being hauled into a carrier and had to chase after you all the way to Miss Nekomi-San's home!"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Sir, for worrying this dear girl," Kali said with a menacing drawl, "and for giving Nekomi-san such a shock! What on earth would possess you to run at the Governor's wife? I would expect a man – if you can call yourself that – to have realized that her guards would attack any rabid dog stalking someone of her stature!"

"Please, Kali," Nekomi nodded weakly. Mugen growled at her feeble attempt to quiet her supervisor, recognizing the fact that she was anything but stern with her – she was enjoying the girly gang up on the unarmed vagabond too much to intervene.

"I still say we should have left the trash at the side of the road, but you were willing to put everyone at risk by infecting your home with it! If your father was still -,"

"Kali," Nekomi began patiently, "Will you please bring me some tea? I am rather parched." She rendered the elder woman silent with a pleasing smile. There were no more words exchanged, nonetheless, the threatening glower delivered by Kali was enough to draw Fuu nearer to Mugen. It was that she was old, and her beady eyes were enclosed by deep grooves of crows' feet, and the sagging skin frowned over the ridge of each brow to form roofs over her eyes, which made her appear all the more menacing. However, she was a woman of principals – she would never disobey the young Nekomi unless she wanted to wind up on the streets. She could push her limits with this one – she had watched the girl grow and still retained an aura of superiority that Nekomi obeyed. But, there were times, like this, were Kali was uncertain of where she stood – one step too far and it was the gutters for her.

"As you wish, madam."

When Kali's presence lifted and the handmaid removed herself from sight to rest behind the screen door, Fuu relaxed and turned to Nekomi.

"Sorry about that – in fact, all of this. We really must be such a thorn in your side!" Fuu said with an uneasy scratch at her neck. She did not take much offense from the offbeat observations, even so it brought into perspective what a nuisance they must be with Mugen's unconsciousness and her own problematic start when she first came to Nekomi.

"Oh no, don't mind what Kali says."

"The crazy one?" Mugen intervened as he tried to regain his bearings on who was who.

"She has been with us since I was a child," Nekomi continued without acknowledging Mugen's comment. "And like many people she is not accustomed to change. These past years have been tense for her, so I cannot blame the woman for being wary of foreigners. Unfortunately, Kali has a habit of viewing everyone she has not knowing for fifteen years or more as an intruder, which makes it all the more difficult when it comes to socializing."

"Changes? Like what?" Fuu inquired.

With a gay smile, Nekomi shook her head and gave a small chirp of laughter – as if the question had just passed her by.

"You must be so tired, both of you. There must be some way that I could ease your discomfort?"

Fuu eagerly nodded her head at the offer - the question, forgotten - but Mugen's verbal comment commanded total attention from the two.

"You've done enough, don't you think?" he barked, averting his sights from Nekomi once the rejection settled in; realizing her pained expression would do more harm to him than he would care to admit. With an agonizing grunt, Mugen heaved himself to his feet, using Fuu's skull as a means to steady himself when his knees locked in place. Neither woman followed his example and remained seated on their comfortable mattresses.

"Mugen," Fuu protested, "where are we going to go? I barely have any money left – if we rationed it we could maybe buy some dangos which would keep us for a week!"

"We'll manage – we always do, don't we?"  
  
"But you can barely stand up straight! And look at you - you're a complete mess!"

"Speak for yourself!" Mugen bellowed, eying the stains on her kimono with disdain; unwittingly falling into Fuu's trap.

"Exactly! All the more reason to stay and think things over!"

"I have some bath houses which you could use downstairs," Nekomi piped. Mugen would have enjoyed slapping the bitch's mouth for her involvement had it not been for the lack of interest and zeal in their discussion. She did not care whether they stayed or not from the vacant information she presented; staring down at her folded hands as she spoke to the floor. It was enough to stir Mugen's curiosity beneath his lingering dislike for the girl.

"I also know an inn which you could stay not far from here. I have been a patron there for many years so renting a room should not be too much of an issue."

"Are you sure?" Fuu asked, suppressing the excitement in her voice. Like an infant she had accepted all that Nekomi had offered without a sliver of guilt, however when her problems seemed to be solved, she had to pick at the remains to ensure that she had not deluded herself. "We couldn't ask you to do all of this after the mess we have put you through."

Mugen knew that Nekomi was seriously considering the offer she made. Her eyebrow gave a narrow twitch as Fuu probed her intentions. Apparently she had not thought things through as clearly as she had anticipated and considered withdrawing the proposal. The way her eyes traced over his face – hungry, but repulsed – was evidence enough to suggest that she had come to terms with the idea that Mugen was no longer the playmate she met on the island.

"Come on Fuu, let's leave before we waste any more time."

The waitress kneaded the mattress with her fingers, peering up hopefully. Mugen was already heading to the exit by the time Nekomi's reply came.

"The bathroom is down the hallway. My handmaid will direct you there, and prepare a bath for you."

Fuu squealed with excitement, forgetting herself as she gave a half-arsed bow before sprinting out of the door – with the aforementioned handmaid having to chase after the bounding brunette as she trampled down the hallway.

_And then there were two._  
  
"Will you be taking a bath as well?"

"Yea'. Might as well, Nekomi." He said her name outloud, because he needed it to be true. He felt as if he was sifting through the releams of his dreams again, but he was not waking up when it was intended. The longer he stayed, the more this was becoming a nightmare he never foretold.

Behind him, the floorboards groaned – _she was getting up_, he thought – and squeaked as she made her way towards him. Nekomi stopped, perhaps too late for both of them to keep within their personal boundaries.

"If you take the right down the corridor, there is another bathroom," she said through a sigh, blowing cool air over the nape of Mugen's neck. He shuddered and gripped at his gi to stop himself from quivering. It was not right – she left him; she left him; she left him, echoed in his mind and after what felt like minutes of having her breathing softly down his neck, he collected himself.

"This doesn't change anything," he told her sternly. "As far as I am concerned, we don't know each other."

There was a pause and Nekomi had pulled back, sensing that the distance between them was growing. "It has been five years, Mugen – have you still not found it in yourself to… forget what has happened."

Mugen was leaving before Nekomi could get another word into their stale conversation, however, he continued it when he was out of earshot, and Nekomi was erased from sight when he turned the corner into the bathroom.

"Its been longer than that, Nekomi. It's been _seven years now_."

**N O T E S** : WOO! Almost done with the chapter after this one two! Finally - some interaction! xD Hehe, thanks for all the subscribers and comments, guys. You don't know how lovely it is to see -insertname- favorite story when you open your emails. )  
Well, I hope you like his chapter - I will posting another one, probably later today or early tomorrow for you guys. Music I listened to was from Cowboy Bebop - Goodnight Julia - to get me into it. Sorry that there was not too much characterisation here, but this is more one of those chapters that gets you up to date with the happenings.

Bah. Just wanted to ask whether any other writers are tired of having to delete their stories to upload them? -- its just this system is really annoying. Bothers me to post here...  
BAH.

HOPE you enjoy dearies.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Eleven - Charry Blossom Blues  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : ... I honestly can't fill this. xD  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

The bath was better than Mugen had anticipated. The forty minutes he lounged neck deep in the spa-like room sped by at an alarming rate; leaving the boy reeling when the soft-spoken servant drummed on the door to remind him that food was on the table. He tried several times to extract himself from the hot water, but as the seemingly icy air breathed against his bare skin, the thief found himself immersed within those few seconds of exposure.

"Becoming a fruit," he told himself half-heartedly. The idea of any trace of femininity within him was brushed aside while his muscles were soothed by the waves that were caused by Mugen's shifting body; easing the pain out of his bruised shoulders and stiff neck. He was beginning to understand why Fuu would whine when she had to go without a bath for a couple of days, while he was so content to accumulate all the dirt in the world without venturing near water. He even teased four-eyes about his love for bathing. He did not complain when they had to go without, however, the instant they found a place to stay he was the first one in the bath. The vagrant chuckled through a smile at the thought of his two travelling companions; allowing his lips to stretch into a grin as the image of Fuu's flushed face came to mind, her confused expression whenever Mugen would emerge sans clothing out of some spring.

_He remembered one time when Nekomi..._

No – not again. He stopped himself before he had time to register another memory of _her_. It was not enough, apparently, that she was here – somewhere in the house. Mugen had to resort to his stores of memories to remember a girl who he had seen after seven years, by coincidence, because his image of her is not what he had envisioned. She was well – pretty like he knew she would be when she was older. He had hoped that she had lost everything; that her position, her home, her riches had gone up in flames. Then, if he had seen her somewhere on the streets, begging, he could forgive her. If she was in a worse situation than him, he could say they were even.

How far they were from an equilibrium of unhappiness.

As his thoughts plagued him, he sank deeper into the water until his nose hovered above the surface. There was another knock on the door and Mugen waited until it ceased like all the other times, accepting the handmaid's persistence. He would get out when he wanted – and not a second before.

"How could she," he started, his voice coming out as bubbles under the water. There was no excuse for her to leave – to abandon him so readily. If she was in a dire situation, perhaps he would have the capacity to understand, and possibly to forgive her; but she has shown him nothing but the comforts she has grown accustomed to. And still, the brat had the audacity to play him; to pretend as if he did not know the full story. It was a ploy to save her hide he was sure.  
Finally the water had lost its ability to ease his nerves. Mugen removed himself from the tub with a huff, and took a second to adjust to the cool that caressed his limbs, forcing his muscles to tense in accordance. It was then that he pushed back the screen door and sauntered into the centre of the room it led from – without the vaguest inkling that he was being watched.

That was until he picked up the sharp intake of breath at the entrance.

When he looked up he saw Nekomi paralysed by the door; her eyes focused on anything but his face, until she felt his eyes on her. In her hands she gripped a pair of towels; tight enough to stop the blood flow into her fingers so that they were as white as the towels she held. In a blur of speed, she flung them at Mugen, turning round before he had even had time to catch the material.

"_Shit_."

"Ohmygod-I-I-amso-so-_sorry_," she yelped, tripping on her own words as she tried to find the right things to say to her guest. A hand went to her face to shield her eyes as if his one-eyed trouser snake would somehow pop up into her scope of vision.

Mugen frowned and wrapped a towel around his narrow hips, slinging the second over his neck to catch the droplets of water that leaked from the tips of his hair.

"Whatcha' want? Those towels were on the futon before I came in," he stated with a suspicious undertone.

"Fuu told me to come get you! You've been in the bathroom for over forty minutes!" she replied defensively, almost turning to look round before she remembered that Mugen was not even dressed.

"Hmpf." Mugen ran the sleeve of the towel over his features, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender on the fabric which was appealing to say the least. "Well I am dressed now. You can turn around if you want."

"I'd rather not."

"C'me on, you've seen me naked before..." he started edgily but had the will to stop before he reminded them both that they had some form of history. Despite the silence he would expect, Nekomi chuckled, muffling her quiet laughter with a hand.

"Why did you have to come out of the shower naked?" she asked. Mugen knew she was not referring to this occasion. Strangely, he felt compelled to reply.

"I did not know you would be hovering by the edge of the screen!"

She was laughing harder now. "Mugen, I told you that I was in the room."

"Served you right for forcing me to have a stupid bath just cause I had a bit of dirt on me."

"A bit? You were filthy!"

He shrugged, smiling. "Ah well."

The laughter died down until it faded into an echo. Nekomi cleared her throat while lifting her chin, staring out into the corridor right in time before Mugen could change his attitude.

"Food is on the table. Fuu insisted that we eat outside on the terrace." Reaching out, she closed the lucid screen behind her, leaving Mugen to trace the opaque outline of her form when she turned to leave. "_You look good_," she whispered.

Mugen did not know if she was talking to him or to herself, and stayed quiet.

--

The vagrant did not bother putting on his clothes and followed the sweet scent of food back into the room he woke up in.  
In the distance, Fuu and Nekomi were seated outside on the terrace, chirping away like they had been friends for years. With a lopsided grin he realised that Fuu was doing most of the talking, waving her chopsticks in the air while she spoke with Nekomi tenderly playing with the dumplings on her plate, drawing shapes in the puddle of soy sauce as she listened.

When Mugen entered the room she was the first to realise. Fuu continued to babble – talking and eating at such speeds that it was a wonder how she did not choke or snap a tooth on the rapidly moving chopsticks. Nekomi glanced up at the loner when he rested on the door frame of the terrace, surveying the scenery before settling his gaze on the pair of them. She offered him a smile; nonetheless, it appeared that the short truce between them had elapsed behind Mugen's lingering hatred for her. Acknowledging this, she lowered her gaze back to the table. With Fuu present, she knew questions would only antagonise Mugen.

"So then, that's when Mugen appeared out of the blue – three years after that journey. I mean, I did not know he would come all the way out to the country for me but -"

"For you?" Mugen intervened. "What the heck are you on abo -"

Fuu hushed him with a snap of her two sticks. She rolled her eyes as if to say, how rude before she could continue her story. Nekomi had to have a quick word, however.

"Fuu was just telling me about your journey together across Japan."

"Yeah. Has she mentioned how many times I've saved her ass?" Mugen snorted, placing himself at the far end of the table in between both women.

"Many. She's made it clear how greatly she appreciates your help." Nekomi was smiling, but it was not empty or cordial as it had been when she would speak to Kali or address her handmaids. There was a deeper gratitude in her eyes that forced Mugen to retreat to his food to escape how pleased she seemed with him. It only reminded him of how contented she would be on the island when Mugen showed that he had developed from that mindless thief she met one rainy night. It was never any big changes either; it would always be gestures that Mugen did not even notice – like asking for water without commanding Nekomi to bring some to him, or inquiring (no matter how crudely) if he had hurt her during a wrestling match. All those occasions called for _that smile._

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fuu turn her head towards the room though it was not enough to hide the blush that crept up the side of neck.

"Yeah, well. If it wasn't for him... him and, Jin," she said, stumbling to add the ronin into her credits, "I would have never been able to see my father again."

"So you did see him in the end?"

Fuu nodded but wore her mixed emotions about the meeting respectably.

"I did, Nekomi. But there was so much I wanted to say – how he left my mother and me all alone. Then..." she shrugged off the next part of the sentence and turned to the host. "Kali-san mentioned something about your father. I did not see him when we came in."

"Fuu," Mugen said in a warning tone.

"What? I'm just asking, Nekomi where her dad is, Mugen."

"Leave it _alone_."

"But -"

"He died a few years ago," Nekomi said, breaking up the argument.

"Died?" Fuu repeated sadly. "I am so sorry – I did not mean to bring it up."

"No, no, your inquisitiveness is understandable." She reached out and petted Fuu's hand as she spoke, erasing the worried expression from the girl's face with her gentle touch.

"How'd he die?" Mugen asked. His voice was unstable, and he crocked out the last part of his question, mainly because Nekomi's eyes were so utterly focused on him that it was like they were piercing into his psyche. It appeared that the enquiry was difficult to answer as she took her time in collecting herself; softening her features and kneading the furrows from her brow. Fuu did not approve of such a personal question, however, she was curious to know also and was glad that it was Mugen asking and not her.

"There was a raid on a Satsuma boat – the last shipment my father was going to supervise on an island that the government used to store many of its consignments -"

"Among other things," Mugen drawled under his breath for Nekomi to hear. She stiffened and gripped her chopsticks harder, though Fuu assumed that it was the memory that forced her to freeze.

"Then... there was an attack, on a boat carrying some sugar as supplies to our settlers there. My father was killed along with the rest of the crew." She paused before letting out a nervous chuckle that was painful for both guests to hear. "He promised it would be his last job before he would have a permanent station back in Satsuma. Ironic, isn't it? Then again, he had said that for so long, but always enjoyed travelling at sea too much to make an effort to stay at this port for extended periods of time."

It appeared that it was not enough for Mugen to see Nekomi teetering on the edge of losing her friendly facade.

"D'you know who killed him?"

Nekomi stared intensely at Mugen, so much so that he could hear the wheels in her mind turning – trying to figure him out behind his cold steel eyes.

"No," came a fourth voice. "Nekomi did not want to know the killer's name, but we were assured that he was captured and killed."

Thankfully, Nekomi turned away before Mugen felt his defences slip through his fingers, to glancing up at Kali who was rigid by the entrance of the terrace. The older woman was glowering at Mugen with a stare that would make any human convulse; sending pins and needles climbing up the length 

of his legs which made him shuffle uncomfortably.

Fuu's voice broke the silence. "You don't want to know?"

"Is there any point?" Nekomi said quietly. "Should I know this person's name and go on hating him for all eternity? It will not change the past, will it?"

"I suppose you are right," Fuu grumbled, sipping on her tea while her fingers fished for another dango from the empty plates, "But at least you know he's gotten what he deserved right?"

_Mugen had heard enough_, and evidently, Nekomi had as well.

"Please, Fuu, continue with your story. So, you and Mugen travelled all the way from the town to Satsuma?"

"It was not easy," she exclaimed with renewed vigour for the topic. "Mugen is a difficult one let me tell you - if he isn't lazing about he doesn't try to make your life any easier!"

"I can imagine," she said with a tender smile. Even Kali grunted in approval which sent Mugen scowling like some scolded infant, though she left before he could complain.

"The first few days he didn't even talk to me!" Fuu continued without much consideration about the information she was divulging. Give her some tea, a pile of food and a bath and this female would tell you her deepest secrets without a care. What worried Mugen was that his personal data was littered throughout the tale and with the Satsuma raid still fresh in their minds; he anticipated that Fuu would say something that would trigger an understanding from their host.

"All he did was grumble on, take out his sword, slash a bush, sleep, wake up, slash a bush, grumble," she whinged, throwing back her hair which tumbled from her messy bun to curl around her cheeks. "And then, we got into arguments about food, why he came to see me-"

"I did not come to see you!" Mugen repeated, tossing his hands into the air as if to remind Fuu that she could not make up things when he was sitting in the room with her.

"Whatever. And then for a while I tried to get him to tell me about this cherry blossom chick who popped up when Mugen was day dreaming. I don't know but something is wrong if Mugen remembers a girl – even if it was obscure, people like him don't-"

Mugen was sure that his cover was blown. He checked Nekomi for any signs of remembrance, or embarrassment. Fuu's voice became a drone against the roar of blood that flooded his ears, drawing the colour from his skin to his face in a rush of red. Nonetheless, she remained composed, settled against her calves while sipping on her tea; the odd wrinkle on her nose signifying that her drink was still too hot for her to handle.  
As the china was placed back onto the table, her eyes met his briefly.

"You like Sakura?" she asked above Fuu's wittering.

He blinked back his surprise. "I –uh don't like them."

"Wah?" Fuu piped from the side, slamming her palms against the table in shock. "They are beautiful!"

"I take it that you are a fan of the cherry blossom?" Nekomi said through a gleeful laugh.

"I don't see what's so wonderful 'bout them," Mugen grunted, annoyed that his opinion was so quickly overlooked by Fuu's ecstatic exclamation. "They are all weedy. Things that weak don't deserve to live."

"If you give them a chance to bloom and grow, perhaps you would not be so quick to judge." Her words met silence, though the time they spent in wordless harmony was not awkward. "Come, see for yourself."

The statement was abrupt but Fuu rose from her seat without a question, moving over to Nekomi who had already motioned to the side of the terrace which overlooked the gardens below. Mugen gave them a few seconds to settle themselves before he hopped off of the mattress.

They stood side-by-side. Fuu rested her weight over the railing, her arms elongated across the banner, joined under her chin by her two overlapping hands. She wriggled her hips and lifted herself onto the tips of her large geta to get a better vantage point from her limited height; a few times she lost her balance and brushed up against Nekomi before she found her centre.

The other was utterly still, swaying only when Fuu breached her personal space. Despite being a head taller, Mugen recognised frailness in Nekomi that he had never acknowledged in Fuu. He teased her of being a pain; nonetheless, he had failed to mention how her vibrant attitude and headstrong ideals had made their journey all the more interesting. Nekomi had that once, but no more. Mugen could not detect that same zeal for life that would infect him as a child; that addictive demeanour which would have him drunk on happiness for a short period of time. Now, Nekomi looked like Fuu when she was hurt – Fuu tied to the cross on that island, with blood weeping from the corner of her mouth; the life forced out of her elegant smile and soft features. He tried to shake off the memory, however, Nekomi's unresponsive stare reminded him of Fuu when she was on the brink of collapse. He had to look away, taking his place next to Fuu on the terrace.

The gardens below were lush – a piece of forest, Mugen thought. The bushes and trees were thickest by a pond, frowning over the bank so that their leaves sprinkled the odd leaf onto the azure surface, disturbing the fish beneath with a ripple or two. Fruits were springing to life from fickle branches – a few already ripening in colour. In the far corner of the garden were the aforementioned cherry-blossoms – with its trademark pink flowers blooming all around the tips, though the majority were still enclosed in buds. Mugen failed to concentrate on the trees, preferring to watch Fuu instead.

"Wow, this must have taken ages to grow," Fuu said, placing a hand on Mugen's hand as leverage to see more over the balcony.

Nekomi nodded. "My father worked hard on the garden – even when he was given a week off from his post, I would always find him here, tending to the flowers. If not, he was in his room training."

_The general gardening? I find that hard to imagine_, Mugen thought, picturing her father in all his military glory; on his hands and knees planting daisies. He had to disguise a smile at the picture.

"But, it is a bit of a mess," she added with a scowl. "My... husband is not much of a gardener, not that it matters – he is rarely home long enough to tend to his business affairs here, before wandering off to Edo, or somewhere up north."  
  
"You... don't see him much," Fuu said uncertainly. They had both sensed the change in Nekomi – how she hardened at the mention of her husband into something cold and unlike the amicable woman Fuu had already grown accustomed to. Mugen saw this side of Nekomi only a few times in his life, but the distance of time and events between him had made it impossible for him to determine what the cause of her discomfort was. But he didn't care to ponder on it, making his own issues about the subject his main prerogative.

Married? The word eclipsed what could have been a better start to their tired friendship, cajoling Mugen into the familiar realm of spite; an emotion he could utilise to ease the pain in his heart when he saw Nekomi so distraught, as well as the heat that surged through him when he recognised that Nekomi had someone while he was left with no one.

He grunted, pulling back from the banister and swung his hands around his neck.

"I guess you don't get laid very often, do you?" he asked smugly, rolling his head to the side to observe the way Nekomi's face disintegrated under his vulgar comment. Even Fuu was without words as her head swivelled from Nekomi to him; smouldering under his easy smile as if the remark had been directed at her. Fuu had wonderful expressions; beautiful anger which flushed her with colour. It was probably one of the reasons he went all out to aggravate her – to see her plump cheeks rise, her lips quiver as the need to slap him surged through her corpse. Nekomi too. But it seemed, this time, Fuu had to be irate for the two of them.

Shaking her head, the lady regained that pitiful appearance she hoped would pass for happiness, smiling her sweet – yet crooked – smile as she turned to address Mugen.

"I've actually never had time to think about that... thank you for reminding me, Mugen."

She was doing it to annoy him, he was sure. She knew he wanted to see her mad; to get her blood pumping the way he used to on the island, until she exploded under Mugen's endless pursuits. The girl was only human after all – we all have our limits, the important thing to recognise is that we have them, and that we are not immune to emotions that some would find barbaric or unrefined. Nekomi was doing what Mugen never had the ability to do – take everything in her stride.

Appalled, he gave a sneer as he backed away from the pair. His fiery gaze never left Nekomi; never stopped examining her broad grin and bright eyes, even if it was a weak disguise against the despondency that Mugen thought was useless to hide.  
During his bath he thought that he should talk to her. For a second, he accepted the idea that there was more than meets the eye; that he should delve deeper into the mystery to unravel Nekomi as she once did to him. Now, he could barely look at her without the sensation that he was going to spill his lunch all over her immaculate wooden floors.

"I'm going inside, girly." He vanished as he trudged into the room without another word.

Fuu stared long and hard after Mugen, even after his footfalls became nonexistent murmurs and his presence was undetectable. Her brows were knit, her brown eyes wide and enlivened while they stalked him through the dark, tracing him for some sign that the blow that he took last night had forced him into madness. It was the only explanation she could concoct.  
In confusion, her attention wavered to Nekomi. She examined the young woman's face hungrily, mapping it out in her mind as if she would unstitch Mugen's attitude by reading her expression. Long 

fingers tightened around her kimono and she inched closer to Nekomi until she finally attracted her notice.

As her jade eyes captured hers, Fuu stammered; unsure what she could possibly say after Mugen's sudden change. An apology was too weak for the insolent statement, however, with this knowledge, Fuu's mind was set on reciting some overblown explanation regarding her friend's behaviour, with lies she hoped would ease the silence of his departure.

"Sometimes," Nekomi said, interrupting Fuu's thoughts, "silence is the best remedy for occasions like this." Even after saying this, it appeared that Nekomi had problems following her own codes of conduct. She chuckled loudly – surely, as if the pitch of her laughter was the key to authenticity. Fuu could hear that her merriment was laced with sadness, and for the first time, she was uncertain in Nekomi's presence.

"Girly... I have not heard that in a long time," she whispered, adding another low chortle after that.

"Ye-yes... well, Mugen likes his pet names. He has called me that for ages – sometimes I wish he stopped, to be frank."

"Sometimes I would wish the same thing, Fuu."

Her brows cocked up in surprise. "That was your nickname as well?" Her hesitation was withering away behind Nekomi's persistent smile. Timorously she escaped the woman's unnerving gaze and focused hers on the plains of greenery before them, glad for the distraction.

Beside her, Nekomi was nodding. "He would call me that a lot – sometimes I thought he would call me girly because he forgot my name. It would get me so riled up," she said, more to herself than her companion; remembering more than explaining. Her slender fingers embraced the banner, pulling her close to the edge until her simple kimono was crimpled against the wooden frame. With the sun behind them, her features were unmasked and showed Nekomi to be wearier than Fuu had anticipated.

The dark rings beneath her eyes were prominent, and her skin had lost the warm glow the light provided; dousing her wan complexion in a golden sheen. It was her eyes that showed her troubled mind; hooded by her heavy lids and unfathomably deep, like there was no end to the abyss of her pupils. Mugen had that look. When he daydreamed Fuu saw it; and it had been so intense that night at the theatre that she had to shake him out of it. She wanted desperately to know what had enticed him into such a trance, and yet, she hadn't the courage to ask the man what could have done it. Likewise with Nekomi, Fuu felt drawn and repelled by it. It was like the both of them were living in a dream; in a memory, and were lost to reality when it came.

"Did... does... your husband call you that?" she inquired, hoping her voice would pull her back from the fog of her musing. Nekomi responded, but it was clear that she was staggering the two realms of present and past.

"No... A little boy – a _precious_ boy, used to call me that when I was younger." She paused for a raspy chuckle. "I hated it at first – but now, when I think back on it, I wish he would call me that again."

"Where is the boy?"

Her fingers tensed and grasped the banister tightly; the laughter not quite dying from her lips fast enough to correlate with her suddenly drawn features.

"Things don't always turn out the way we want them to, Fuu. Things change – sometimes for the better, sometimes..."

Fuu did not need to pry any more. He died, she assumed from what Nekomi was telling her, and she was not as audacious as Mugen to let her continue on such a heavy note.

Peering over the ledge, her eyes were drawn to the sight of the Sakura – one in particular that was dwarfed by its neighbouring cherry blossoms. Its trunk was thin – fragile, but its branches were growing and the leaves were clinging to every protrusion it could find. As it stood tall in the garden, Fuu felt strangely compelled, and enlivened by the sight.

"Did he like cherry-blossoms?" Fuu inquired, glancing up at Nekomi. Finally, she caught the remnant of a true smile lingering on the woman's rouged lips.

"I like to think he did, even if he never expressed any real interest in it... I believed he recognised that there was more to them than appearances. I hope I taught him that despite first impressions, one day a feeble Sakura would be able to grow into something more beautiful and grand."

Fuu smiled. "I am sure he understood that, Nekomi."

She returned the smile, but went off at a tangent. "I hope Mugen stops never calling you girly, Fuu... because I know you'll miss it more than ever if he does. I did not realise how much I liked it until it was gone and I fear it would be the same for you."

Behind the screen door, Mugen raised himself from floor, carrying his metal geta in one hand. He continued to use the wall for support, his silver eyes less attentive and sharp than was usual. They swayed to the left, upwards, drawn by the glinting cage which swivelled as the bird trotted towards him. It gave a low, mournful hoot, expanding as it were, while its feathers arranged themselves.

Mugen nodded, and moved away knowing that the two girls would come in any second. They continued to chatter amongst themselves in the meantime, but he did not have the stomach to listen to it anymore.

_He had heard enough for now._

**N O T E S **: SEE!? Told ya'll I had another chapter coming. I finished this piece this morning, but fell asleep before I could post it. xD Now I am up and waiting for Wimbledon to start!  
(fingers crossed for Feds)  
Anywho, yeah. Here is another chapter. Fuu is quite dumb in this one. Yeah, its for a reason. Thanks to all my 'reviewers' and 'viewers', 'subscribers' and everyone in between. I am not actually sure what is coming up next in this line.  
I may take a break to start another piece that I had some thoughts about before moving onto this. I have a vague idea, but... meh - needs more substance.

COMING UP :

Fuu cannot be kept in the dark for long, Mugen get's on with his job and Nekomi gives them a tour of Satsuma.  
Doesn't work well when everyone has their own schedual.

Would love some R&Rs.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Twelve - Fuu's perception; Mugen's anger.  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MugenxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : ... everyone would rather be somewhere else.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

They spent the morning together – all three of them, despite the fact that they all had places they'd rather be – all with the exception of Fuu.

By the time they left the terrace, Mugen was clothed in his general attire though he did not seem to appreciate them being clean. He kept them crumpled up while he lolled on one of the mattresses downstairs, stretching across what seemed to be the general meeting area for guests. One leg was thrown over his bent knee; his hands providing extra support behind his head. He was compelled to stare at the ceiling, closing one eye to the image of the scuttling servants that peaked over his line of sight before vanishing into another compartment. He pretended not to hear their comments; simply grinning in response to their outlandish remarks about him – wondering how their mistress ever got involved with a thief like him.

"Where did you get those prison marks from, boy?" Mugen did not open his eye – thankful that he could tell from the voice that it was Kali so that he could save himself from another scarring vision of Nekomi's supervisor. He imagined, however, that the elder woman was posed next to him; hands on hips or clinging to some pieces of paper – perhaps a knife he was unfortunate enough.

"Where you normally get prison marks – from prison. And the name's not boy, lady – its Mugen."

"Mugen," she repeated stiffly, giving a sneer as the name rolled from her lips as if it was coated in poison. Her raspy breath came out in short, strangled gasps – as if she was suffocating – though Mugen could tell that everything about her was calm and collect; it was just her age which constricted her. Nonetheless, it was unnerving to say the least – having an ancient mummy next to him was not something he found relaxing.

"Mugen," she said for the final time, easing the rasp that rattled in her throat, "If I were you I would make myself scarce."

"Why? 'Fraid I'm gonna hurt the princess?" He tsked, closing both eyes when the sight of the world around him became stale with the old woman's curiosity. He was not here for Nekomi – he was not even here for the brat; he had a job to do, and as soon as he got the twerp out of this place he was ditching her ass, doing what he was supposed to do. Mugen was tired of everyone thinking he had some alternative motive to his work. "Look... Kali..." He could feel the supervisor scowling from the familiar term, "I don't care what you think I've got with Nekomi, but whatever it is I suggest you take that opinion and shove it where the sun don't shine, alright? I'll be out of your hair as soon as I get the kid."

"I didn't think you would be leaving so soon, Mugen."

Brow furrowed, the vagabond leant his head back, staring at Nekomi when she came down with Fuu hot on her heels. Both of them looked refreshed though there was an artificial beauty about Nekomi that could not match to Fuu's innocent allure. Her rouged lips and white face were stark in comparison to the other's simple, natural finish: tinted cheeks and bright eyes. He knew he should have been drawn to Nekomi, but she lost that sincerity by painting on another face without any intention of looking attractive; just to look the part. Without her genuine smile or inquisitive look, Mugen would not have spared her a second glance if they met on the street. She continued to talk, and finally, he looked away.

"Fuu was quite keen on taking a walk through the town? Perhaps go down to the docks before I escort you to the inn you will be staying at."

"You really don't have to do all of that," he said huffily, earning a glower from both Fuu and Kali. However, for once, Kali was siding with him. While their intentions were at odds, they both wanted the same goal – to get 

him the hell out of here.

"Nekomi-sama, I am sure you could ask one of your assistance to be a tour guide. You have... a lot of important work to be doing."

Mugen waited for the rejections. Kali was not firm enough with Nekomi, and he was sure she would not give in without a fight. But she didn't huff, or disagree. A silence fell over Nekomi that was so prominent that it forced Mugen to roll into a sitting position to watch the scene.  
Fingers were tight around her ornate kimono; the white of her hand so bright against the vivid blues and indigoes of the wave designs creeping up the length of her attire. Her face did not reveal much; maybe the sliver of surprise or a look of acknowledgement to what Kali was suggesting. He looked between the two women, both locked in a staring content as if they were sending each other messages in their vacant stares. He felt his heart quicken in his chest. He could sense something was wrong. When he noticed Fuu sheltered behind Nekomi, her pursed lips and angry scowl spoke louder than any of them – she openly addressed the fact that there was something going on with her readable expression.

It felt like hours, but within the minute Nekomi was smiling falsely; a toothy grin that was too large for her delicate features.

"I can deal with my work once I finish touring."

Kali did not argue. She bowed her head in submission, watching the shadows on the floor while Nekomi and Fuu made their way to the entrance, followed by Mugen as he rammed the expensive tiling with his geta.

When the door clicked shut, Kali summoned her own helper; a short woman decades younger than her superior. She was hesitant but stood upright besides Kali.

"I need you to get me in contact with the general of our prison association."

"Ma'am?" the mistresses replied, confused.

Kali had no problem repeating the request. "I need to investigate into Nekomi's father's murder. While Nekomi may not want to know, I think it is in her best interests to check on the matter."

The woman nodded and left.

And for the first time in many years, Kali gave a smile.

* * *

"Nekomi-san is a wonderful tour guide, but a really bad liar."

Snapping Mugen out of his gaze, Fuu padded up beside him, taking her leave of Nekomi who glided in front like the ring leader of the party. It was early afternoon and the three of them had wandered through most of the town: down to the docks where they sampled the fresh sea food Satsuma had to offer and in conclusion, to the inn where Mugen and Fuu would be staying. It was luxurious to say the least – way out of their normal price range. Had it not been for Nekomi's prestigious reputation, they would be in dept till they were eighty if they managed to stay here for a week. Nonetheless, all of this was dwarfed by Nekomi's knowledge of the city, 

its culture and its social ladder. As part of the government chain, it was no surprise that Nekomi knew so many of the high ranking socialites. Turns out that the boy performing on the evening they went to the theatre was a son of a high ranking noble here in Satsuma – she knew where he lived and described his deluxe home as being one of the loveliest she had encountered. The boy's family was distantly related to Nekomi, or so they were told. Even Mugen was impressed. Fuu could tell despite his constant sulking.

Glancing up at him, she frowned.

She could tell something was bothering him. She just could not bring herself to ask.

Contrary to what Mugen might say, she was not dumb. Whether it was womanly intuition or an innate ability to tell when something was wrong, she was not sure; all she really knew was that ever since they had set off to Satsuma he had seemed strangely on edge. Immediately, she recalled the job he was offered she peered up at him expectantly; hoping to read the signs on his face. He met her half-way, offering a side long glance while they walked side-by-side to the beat of each other's footsteps. She felt bile inch into her throat when he finally turned away – to look at Nekomi.

Again, there was that sense of foreboding; a pain inside her she could not place, like all those times Mugen said he would be going out. Back then, she knew she worried for his safety and learnt from experience that her intuition about him generally hit the target. When he would amble in at some ungodly hour – knees grazed, blood soaking the length of his clothing – there was a mixture of fear and relief, which she would mask with a beating or a scolding. She was older now, and understood that she worried for his wounds, but was simply pleased to see him saunter in through the door - alive.

Fuu had that same sensation now.

Brown eyes drifted to and fro, studying Mugen and Nekomi, rolling like a pendulum.

Lanky, tall, impassive – that was Mugen for many people. Nonetheless, Fuu had trained herself to notice everything; the smallest of gestures, the slightest twitch. He was showing signs of them now in his lifeless eyes that swirled in the afternoon light; amber and silver when the light bounced off the rolling waves. His unkempt hair pulled back and forth, rocked in time with the rickety boats that were tied to the harbor. The dark tendrils covered much of his face, most importantly his eyes. If something was wrong she had only seconds to see it before it was engulfed by Mugen's invincible determination and resolve; barely enough time to blink if she wished to catch that sliver of concern.

He had not answered her yet. His lips were tightly sealed, forming little dimples of flesh by each pinched corner. She knew she should stop looking – that she was here for the sights, and yet, watching Mugen had become such a comfort it was hard to stop. Even if she saw something wrong; a signal she didn't think she could bare to see, she could not stop.

"She's got a lot on her mind, Fuu." She caught his reply above the swish of the waves. Even under his baggy shirt, she could see his broad chest, toned from fighting, tightening in anxiety. His chin jutted outwards, his lips allowed to slacken. Once more, she knew without having to look away, where his eyes were. This time, she followed – trying to see what had captivated him so readily.

Nekomi kept her distance.

She had this entire time.  


It was not slyly hidden like Mugen's emotions; nonetheless, her self-conscious behavior in itself was as difficult to unravel as the thief's. She flitted about, a fragile woman who was easily entertained by her own thoughts to the point where she would forget her guests. At times, she would recollect and return to her duties, smiling and gay as if she had not ignored the two travelers for the better part of an hour. At the moment, she was unaware of her actions, and glided gracefully over the rotten planks without a whisper of conversation. Still, Mugen was distracted and Fuu's frown was becoming apparent.

She did not know what was wrong – why the distance, why the tension? She was not stupid, but there was not enough to piece together a story, if there was one. Fuu enjoyed Nekomi's company for all her awkwardness, but she and Mugen were so blissfully concerned with themselves that they never managed to perfectly disguise their feelings around one another. At times they walked as if a whole field was not enough distance between them, sparing a glance here and there to keep each other in their sights. Sometimes, one would slow, the other, quicken – two magnets drawing closer and closer until the initial touch – a cold brush of the hand – before repelling. Embarrassment lit up Nekomi's face in a bright flush of red, and she would hurry along with undignified steps; anything to get away from Mugen again. He on the other hand, would tighten, his eyelids opening ever so slightly while his entire body went rigid as if her touch had wounded him. It was too quick for many to notice. But for Fuu, it felt like it was in slow motion. Ever aching breath seemed to take minutes; every time more painful than the last.

There was something wrong. Fuu did not know Nekomi well enough to make a judgment, but with Mugen, there was no questioning his suspicious behavior.

However, the most crucial subject of all was her own. Why did she care?

Her face burned scarlet at this question, the petite femme folding her arms brashly over her chest. She did not care, that was the problem. Why this ache, then? Why did her heart rattle inside her chest like a rusty can whenever Mugen so much as looked concerned when she was certainly not the key to his issues?

"Yo, Nekomi?" Mugen finally called. His voice was gruffer than usual, to the point where he was overcompensating. Nekomi turned round to address him, though their eyes never met. She looked like she was staring straight through him, while Mugen turned to stare at the open sea.

"Yes."

"Can ya take Fuu back to the inn? I have some work to do."

The request shocked both of them, but Mugen was already ahead of the game, strutting by Fuu only to stop by Nekomi. Without him by her side, something burned within Fuu that she was not accustomed to feeling. It was like fear, only tainted by a strength and passion within her she lacked when something went astray. The sensations were difficult to pinpoint, swirling within her like a giant mixing pot when the seconds ticked and Mugen did not move. Fuu's back slumped forward, her jaws parting. They looked unique, the two of them; two statues posed side by side. Mugen lunged forward and buried a hand in his pocket, the other curling round the katana wedged into the worn strap. Nekomi was staring intently away from him, a tendon growing like a ridge along her neck when Mugen's head twisted towards her. Her strands curled like the blades of grass as he sighed onto her skin.

"I need you to take her back," he repeated.

The urgency in his voice was the last straw.

Fuu slammed her foot into the ground, her head tucked into her chest to avoid their heated stares. She did not know what she felt, but the confusion of her emotions was more than she could bear.

"I want to go with you, Mugen!" she said firmly.

Mugen was looking at her, rotating to face her in one simple motion. His long shadow – an elongated replica of him – crept along the decomposed floors of the harbor into Fuu's line of sight. Her chest was damp from her breathing and blood roared in her ears with as much verbosity as the waves beaching along the shoreline. She was insisting with such zeal that every nerve ending was focused on having her way; no longer perturbed with her own apprehensions. It shook her; her body shook her like a rag doll until she was required to clench her fists to get a hold of herself.

But Mugen scoffed – like she should have known he would.

"Shad-dup, Fuu and go with Nekomi," he told her without a hint of concern in his voice. From the shadow he saw his hand stretch out towards the other beside him, slipping around the outline of her arm and squeezing it tightly. Nekomi gave a hiss of disapproval.

"Go on 'nd take her!"

"Why won't you listen?" Fuu interrupted, closing her eyes. She was hurting badly. His indifference was as sharp as any sword and he was cutting her up into little pieces with every move he made. "I want to come with you!"

"I don't care what you want," he snapped and Fuu looked up out of shock. Every hair on her body was standing on end as his harsh words rung in her ears – devoid of any sympathy for her shaking self. His eyes were burning animatedly, hands tight around his katana's handle in preparation to whip it out if necessary. Nekomi was unresponsive and took in his tense features as if nothing had changed. He was ferocious; terrifying as any beast, and yet, she was calmly standing before this creature. Sneering, he pointed a long finger at her. It was shaking and Fuu blinked back her surprise. "If you don't wanna go back with Nekomi, then go find that dude you're meant to be screwin' alright?"

Reaching out, Nekomi rested a white hand on the ball of Mugen's elbow, grasping it forcefully in her small palm with her lithe fingers curling around the flesh like paper burning on a fire. He held a ragged breath and focused on the hand around him, stopping to let the motion register. Nekomi's face said it all. Her tired eyes were sad, secretive as they held his in a long stare. When he finally looked at her, she flinched, but erased her fears with a deadpan expression. She flexed her fingers around him.

"That's enough, Mugen."

Fuu watched the scene fearfully, holding her breath as Mugen's expression softened and he became limp. Again, in place of her anger, she felt sadness pricking at her heart, watching the beast tamed by a simple ministration. She held her tongue and shuffled uncomfortably on the spot while Mugen turned round and headed off in the direction that was set, making sure to yank his arm as vehemently as possible from Nekomi's grasp.  
She did not miss a beat; she captured everything in her mind – the sight of Mugen as he disappeared over the horizon. Nekomi's kind words could only reach her when she could no longer see the lone wolf, or hear his 

voice resonating in her mind.

Nekomi caught Fuu's hand in an embrace, and tugged her along with the easy coaxing of a mother. Fuu was too tired to argue and too hurt to put up a fight against the older woman and pressed her troubled thoughts to the back of her mind. Mugen did not want her. But the sight of him pulling away from Nekomi lessened her own anxieties regarding the aristocrat. She did not understand why. While Fuu may not be dumb, she was still naïve and had yet to cover all the emotions her body offered.

* * *

He did it. He had done his job.

Mugen flicked the remaining blood from his katana and wedged the weapon into its sheath. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and his muscles had trouble relaxing as he surveyed the damage he had caused. His breathing was hitched, and he shook his head when he saw that his hakama was torn and his shirt was damp with sweat and blood – blood which was his still leaking from his midriff. Behind him, one body stood out. Against the black suits of his personal guard, the noble was clad in a fine, white number; a night robe that was specially designed to cling to his narrow frame. Even now, he looked elegant, sprawled out on the floor in the dark, with his long black hair thrown around him like an open fan, his fingers curling upwards like pieces of broken glass from his hand. His head was turned to the side, his feminine features deformed by the fat of his cheeks, though his beady eyes were open, now soaked in his own blood. It was dark, yet with the crescent moon above them, the viscous liquid looked liked a dark pool of water as it seeped through the floorboards into the ground. The stab wound was neat. With the slit in his back, it was a clean finish which barely coated the back of his gown.

It had been a few minutes now, but he was restless. The sharp screams from the maids had died down and grunts and slices of swords had fallen to the gentle chirps of the crickets in the hedge.

Surveying the grounds, Mugen gave a silent nod. Nekomi was right – the place was beautiful.  
When she described the situate Mugen could not have been more grateful; she fulfilled his task when he thought he had lost the opportunity running after her that night. His dept would be cleared with the death of this noble, just as those bastards had promised. He had gone to the place where the cloaked figure at the bar had directed him; found the person he was meant to kill, and carried out the job. There was nothing more to it, he was sure.  
He winced and doubled over. The wound was nothing serious - he had lived through being shot, an explosion and Fuu, so the gash on his flank was minimal in his mind. Still, this did not stop the fact that his head was swimming and the stench of blood was making him lightheaded. It was time to leave. Glancing up over the overgrown tree line, the sky was clear with the moon's outline distinct against the perfect crescent curve. The wind tasted like blood and the sea.

* * *

She knew something was wrong.

Like a dog catching the scent of its prey, her head snapped to the gardens of the inn. The room they were given was spacious; one large room divided by a screen with two futons on either side: one for her and one for Mugen.

It had been hours since they parted and Fuu had long past the boarder of childish dislike into genuine worry. 

Nekomi had stayed for tea in hopes of lifting her spirits; attempting to overwhelm Fuu with her stories of lavish masquerades and parties so that Mugen's outburst would become a distant memory. It had helped – she would not lie, but there were times where his words would creep back into her mind and Nekomi would have to start from square zero once more. Whether she minded or not, Fuu could not tell. Nekomi never made out that Fuu's concern was a burden. In fact, she opted for it, saying she wished she could feel that same remorse for her own husband when he was away. For that, she was grateful. With Jin, he was too reserved to comfort her to this extent. While she would beg and plead with Mugen to stay and avoid a fight, Jin's silence always overruled her feelings and the vagabond would be out that door at the drop of a pin. Then, the endless night of pacing would ensue until she was positive that he was alright. Mugen always made her worry. It was his vice and her curse.

Without the frame of the terrace, Fuu would have collapsed. Despite her troubled mind, her body was exhausted. Nekomi left hours ago so that Fuu could rest. She did anything but and finally, her short body had turned against her. Her head lolled from side to side, her bloodshot eyes, closing for minutes at a time to shut out the light of the city over the walls. It was so tranquil here and the views were wonderful. They were lucky to be given such a great spot and Fuu's mind insisted that she take advantage of the warm futons in her room. Her willpower on the other hand, demanded that her time be spent outside, perched by the terrace to peer into the unoccupied hot spring outside their room, and take a stroll down the kept gardens. On a night like this it was a waste to sleep. Then again, it was a waste to worry also.

"He will be fine, he always is," she told herself weakly, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Her face was numb from the cold, but her body was blissfully warm inside the folds of her kimono, heightening her desire to sleep. Through a yawn, she tried to smile, focusing her brown eyes on the moon above them. She wondered briefly if Mugen was in a place where he could see it too. Maybe he was lying on some roof, staring at the same moon; at the same stars that littered the inky heavens. It was idle thinking; wistful and useless. Mugen's practicality surfaced from time to time, crushing her girly visions, forcing her to think rationally. It was then that she recalled Nekomi's features before she left – that distant look in her eye while watching the lights of the town with her on the veranda. It was not frailness or embarrassment she could see, like when she looked at Mugen. It was harder; the same expression and coldness when she grabbed his arm was radiating from her that evening. She tried to turn it off, but a distant glower and a smile tends to look awkward no matter who attempts it.  
She left with a strange goodbye and an empty smile, and for once, Fuu was very happy to be alone.  
In spite of these thoughts, she was looking up towards the sky once more to trace the outline of the deep fissures on the silver moon. Idle. Wistful. Useless. That's what she was.

* * *

It was just sunrise.

All the lights of the villa were off save for the candle perched on a bamboo shaft that had been cut in half. The sky was still dark, but the stars were fading, and the purplish tint from the east was beginning to rise from the horizon – infecting the darkness with the light, or so she thought.  
She had slept a few hours but that had become enough. She slept so little now days that it became routine. Her looks suffered and her fragile body decayed from a trialing resume. But she had to. One day, she will witness the fruits of her labor. Soon, very soon – she was positive.  
The gardens were beautiful at night; the reflections, the shadows, the moonlight on the leaves. But nothing would best the Sakura than in the day time. Staring at them now, she could not make out their pink petals, or the greenery that flourished on the branches. Everything was dark and indistinguishable.  
The moon, however, offered some solace. Bright, alone on a canvas of sky, Nekomi could not help but smile.

"You would have liked this, wouldn't you, baba," she whispered, a hand coming up to curve around her waist. Saying it to herself was still painful – the memory of her father, tearing at the consolation the moon provided. Her hand gripped the flesh of her skin through her kimono, pinching it through the fabric. It hurt, but she needed it. When she was alone like this, when her _husband _was away was when she wanted to find out who killed her father. It was in the records; she knew it, and that temptation in itself was overwhelming, that she could access it at any time. But she had to be strong. Her father would have never approved if she went out of her way to avenge him for a life he was willing to give. Nekomi was aware, that if she ever uncovered the murder's identity, she may not be able to stop before he was dead and buried.

"That's a scary lookin' face you got there, Nekomi."

Nekomi closed her eyes at the sound of the voice, her smile erased.

Mugen hobbled over the wall, jumping down as nimbly as he could. He still stumbled, but regained his composure – glad above all things that Nekomi did not turn round to watch his ungraceful entrance.

"How did you get in without my guards noticing?"

"Pretty easily." He staggered forward and held a hand to his flank. It was a good thing that their houses were not too far apart or else he would have had some trouble. He continued regardless of his injuries. "How's Fuu?"

Nekomi cocked a brow and turned to face him.

"You have not seen her?"

"I was busy with some business I had to finish."

Had it been Fuu, she would have been torturing him for answers, but Nekomi nodded and accepted it.  
She was tired. Yesterday morning she had looked okay, but without the makeup it was even more of a shock. On the street without her ornate clothing she could be mistaken for an impoverished woman. With so many luxuries it seemed absurd that a woman of her status should look so weary. She carried herself grandly, nonetheless.

"You have not seen her yet?"

It was true that he had left the other manor a time ago, and could have gone back to Fuu. He couldn't bring himself to do it. With her constant nagging he was sure she would cause a commotion. He did not particularly want to see Nekomi either, but with such an injury fate did not provide many other solutions. He clutched his stomach, annoyed at the pain more than ever.

"I've been busy," he repeated.

"And you need help?" Although she spoke calmly, Nekomi's face was taught with concern. She moved over reservedly towards him. She did not close the gap.

"You are hurt, Mugen," she whispered, motioning to the blood that stained her shirt. He was before her like a little boy again, blooded up by hanging around criminals, fighting and butchering others to ensure his own safety. In spite of the years that separated them, it was custom to help. The blood no longer frightened her. 

Mugen's aggressiveness, no longer surprised her. She took it all without question. Just as she approached he snapped at her, trying to flick her hand away from touching – dirtying her white hands with his blood. He exhaled heavily, unable to find words to compensate for his lack of grace. Evidently he did not need them.

"Inside. My room has the equipment we need to help the cut."

Defeated, Mugen allowed her to walk close to him, letting him lean against her twiggy framework even though he could crush her if he accepted the gesture. She walked with him to her room, through the dark without any injuries or stumbles; a feat he would not have been able to accomplish without her being there. Since he had come, it was getting brighter, purple turning into a fresh pink over the horizon to wash out the rest of the indigo from the sky, but inside, the rooms were still delightfully dark. The maids were waking in the lower floors, preparing for their chores while they pattered around beneath them. However, upstairs was devoid of any life save for them.

In Nekomi's room, they kept the blinds down. She searched in her draws for a spare bit of roll and alcohol while Mugen was rested up against a wall beside her futon. The birdcage hung overhead.  
He had removed his shirt for convenience, and for the two of them, the wound was apparent beneath the dried blood. Nekomi was wordless as she kneeled beside him, and took it upon herself to clean around the wound with a piece of cloth. It stung, and Mugen cursed and wriggled as she treated the sharp gash in his side. This was no different to how they acted as children; with the boy unable to sit still whenever Nekomi had a piece of old cloth and her father's sake in one hand. 'To clean it' she had told him, but the drink hurt like a bitch when she poured little cups over whatever injury he had. She was being more vigilant than he remembered, tracing the wound indolently and watching his face for his expressions. It made him uncomfortable and he looked away.

"You should have gone to see Fuu, Mugen," she murmured once the silence became unpleasant. Mugen growled and turned away.

"Ain't any of your concern." He paused, and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. "'Sides, she has that boyfriend or, _whatever_ to take care of 'er. I don't see why she still hangs 'round me."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Huh? What's that?" She said it in a whisper and Mugen could barely make out a few syllables.

Nekomi shook her head. "Nothing… its nothing." She sighed and unraveled the roll of white cloth. "Your wound is clean. I'll put this on you to stop the rest of your bleeding."

All this being said, she did not move to fulfill her duty. Instead, she glared at the wound, much of her eyes covered by her hair as she stared at his stomach. Mugen felt his Adam's apple bob awkwardly in his throat when he tried to swallow once he recognized the strange flush on her cheeks.

"What're you doing?"

"Bandaging the wound…"

"Well you aren't doing much'of that are you."

Lowering her head further, Nekomi gave a sigh. "Lean forward, Mugen."  


"Huh?"

"I have to reach behind you."

Now he understood the reasons he was so uncomfortable. He nodded curtly however, and did as he was told, propping himself away from the wall and closer to her. It was so sudden that he drew a breath when he felt her come forward, pulling the bandage around his frame with her small nails grazing along the way. Her head was alongside his, and he could feel the heat radiating from her bony frame as if they were touching. When she spoke, telling him she was almost done, her words were hot and rushed by the side of his ear; more a vibration than true words because of the distance. When the knot was tied, she pulled away instantly.

"You should really speak to Fuu. She was worried about you."

"I told you to leave it," he said, his voice devoid of any real malice or resolve. He felt along the bandages with the broad strokes of his hand. "D'you think I was too harsh?" he grumbled in a sulk, unable to look Nekomi in the eye when he said it. It was unlike him to ponder on such thoughts, but the words came out before he could have them revised so that he did not sound too concerned. He was not too bothered, but he could faintly recall Fuu's face during his rage – how frightened she was of him. He shook the notion from his mind and looked back at Nekomi. She was smiling up at him, with one of those strange, high grins that made him wonder what she was thinking about.

"Do you want me to escort you to the inn to see her?"

"I told you I don't wanna see her! Are you stupid of something?"

Nekomi groaned at his outburst. "You do. She is more worried than you could possibly imagine…"

Mugen wanted to reject her words, but she sounded so sincere that she could only stare blankly at him. He observed the way she tilted her head ever so slightly, peering up at him from a different angle as if it would help her see him clearly. One hand was balled up by her chest, but at times, her index finger would come to touch at her collarbone, fishing for something that was not there. He was reminded of the necklace – the necklace that brought them together. A lump formed in his throat at the thought and he reached for the mound of his shirt before easing it over his body.

"How'd you know," he said in a weak comeback, rolling his eyes in disdain.

"I used to get worried for you."

The answer was not one he was expecting and he felt his cheeks grow hot from her persistent stare.

She continued without missing a beat. "You would leave and then come back all beaten up that it became habit to worry. I can understand how Fuu is feeling." Again, she touched along the base of her neck, thumbing the hollow where her collarbones met. "So it is okay for you to worry about her yourself. I suppose it is karma for all the times we have had to stay awake, wondering when you would come back, _if_ you came back."

"There's no point in worryin' bout me." He had not considered it their burden – never thinking that the reason they would yell or scold him being for his benefit, or out of worry. He never had parents, or people who cared for his wellbeing. Nekomi was the first person who gave him a sliver of what it felt like, and Fuu rekindled those feelings when they traveled together. Three years later, he had forgotten what it was like to be watched 

over.

"Mugen…" Nekomi spoke in a soft undertone, and leant forward as if her words were for his ears only. She placed a cold hand on his own, unafraid of what he might do – how he would pull away from her in disgust. He did nothing, however, and waited for her next move.

"Wah?"

"You should go back to her now. You don't have to talk, but, just show her that you are okay." There was an urgency that stressed how important this was for her. Mugen was motionless, with only the flicker of his eyes distinguishing him from a statue. He saw how her lips quivered, how she bit them to stop them shaking. He could not grasp the importance of Fuu's wellbeing to her – why it mattered so much. He should be the one in regret, he had learnt that much, and yet, Nekomi acted as if everything was her fault.

"You are a good person," she said suddenly, her voice unwavering with her features stilling as she regained her composure. "I always told you that there was a choice. You don't have to be alone anymore."  
There was no reason for her to be saying such useless things, and she looked at the floor shamefully, recognizing the stupidity of her own sentence. "Sorry – I am crossing the line."

Retracting her hand, she rose but was followed by Mugen who got to his feet quickly despite his injury.

"Whatever," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm leaving. Thanks for the do-up, Nekomi." If she was going to be emotional, he had no choice but to leave. They had been apart too long for her to tell him what he was or could become. Already he felt embittered by the remark and pouted openly as he strutted out of the room, leaving the girl without another word. Good. Choice. She did not understand anything, did she? He felt rage swell in his gut from hearing her belittling him with the same tricks and plays that she used when they were kids. He was older and more experienced. He did not need her spurting nonsense about being some sort of hero, or having the ability to change what is written in his blood. He remembered the body – that boy who had been singing at the theatre; how peaceful he looked with a slit in his back and blood pooling around him. Was that good? Was that innocent? Still, her words were chipping at his resolve, her touch leaving lingering warmth on his hand. He felt along where her fingers had rested and held another breath so that his chest was taught and shaking as he walked.

_Stupid woman._

* * *

Fuu rolled onto her side, groaning as she nuzzled the cold floor. Light was everywhere, and the shutters were open. Outside, she could hear laughter and the sound of water splattered onto the rocks of the spring. She felt like her eyes had only been shut for an instant and already it was late morning.  
Drunkenly, she tugged at the covers, unable to drag herself up what felt like a hillside, to her futon. Her sleep had been restless and her arms and neck ached from the drastic position she had taken.  
She allowed her gaze to wander under the protection of her heavy lids; her narrow pupils moving as slow as molasses whilst they scanned the clean room for any signs of life. Sighing, she closed her eyes once her examination was complete and curled into herself to keep the warmth.

As she had expected, Mugen had not returned. Her toes crackled when they rubbed against the notches in the floor and Fuu wandered, if he was hurt. It was too early for her to think yet and she tried to hurl herself onto 

the Futon which was already cold from her absence. When she moved, she noticed the other's presence. Her eyes were locked on the screen dividing the room, flickering to reach every nook and cranny of the compartment to make out the vague shadows that climbed its length. Wind whistled by and the droning of old men's prattle made its way to her ears, but still she listened intently.  
Suddenly, the roll which she had anticipated as a bundle of cloth, moved; shifting and fidgeting. It was too early in the morning to make sense of the situation, and Fuu simply stared in its direction. As if it could sense eyes upon it, she could see the top of it the creature loll towards her, the outline of its profile unmasked for a second.  
A grunt, made its way from the bundle of covers.

"Fuu?"

The hoarse call rang clear over the commotion outside and the girl rubbed her eyes vigorously to rid herself of the sleep that glazed her vision. Innocently, she called out a name, just to be sure.

"Mugen?"

"What the fuck are you doing up so early," he groaned, obviously unaware of the time. When he moved, Fuu concentrated on his face, making out his hair flat against his forehead and spurting upwards at the back. His sharp jaw was a line along the screen, meeting at the chin which was pointed with the faintest of hairs protruding from the skin. Naturally, his loud mouth talking interrupted her examination and she drew back in mild disgust. Honestly, she was brain damaged enough to worry about this, fool? The thought made her convulse.

"It's not early, Mugen! You just came in late!" she yelled back, throwing herself onto her back and staring at the ceiling. He could hear him moving on the other side and peeked over her blanket to see that he was on his back also.

There was a pause and Fuu assumed that he had fallen as sleep. But just as he felt that knot of disappointment, he spoke out:

"Were you… worried?" he asked. Had it been any other man, Fuu would have mistaken the question for concern. Mugen was different: the islander was too rough with his words, and too threatening. Again, the image of him angry against the soothing backdrop of the harbor flashed before her eyes. Unintentionally, she became more defensive than the situation asked for.

"Why would I worry about you? I was out and about yesterday night, anyway." She did not approve of lying. With Mugen, however, it became a habit. She did not want him to know she stayed up until the wee hours of the morning praying for his return; unsure if she should go out and find him or wait patiently to see if he arrived. How could she have fun when part of her wandered if he was lying in a ditch with some fatal wound? If that was the case, she would have never forgiven herself for something that was not in her reach to control.

Mugen gave a grunt. "Is that so?" In her state of post-morning sleep, Fuu fancied she heard a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Whether it was there or not, it was gone by the time he rolled onto his side – his back towards her. "Whatever. Nekomi told me you were worried."

"Ne-ko-mi?" Fuu voiced. Nekomi – sweet, fragile, Nekomi. She had grown attached to the older woman – a sister she never had – but when Mugen said her name, her thoughts were tainted with contempt. Already her body was showing the signs: a barrel chest, filled with air, limbs tight with her muscles defined along her arms 

and neck. Coming down from her momentary flare-up, she felt sorry for her defensiveness. Mugen was obviously not in a mood to fight and she brought down his answer upon herself.

Nibbling on her lip, she closed her eyes and inhaled another shaky breath. So he had seen Nekomi last night, she guessed. She wanted to ask him more about his adventure, to get a better understanding of the situation, still, her questions would have to be saved for later. Through the cackling inn-tenants and the boisterous nature calls, she could hear Mugen's steady breathing, tinged with the rattle of a snore.

**N O T E S **: Sorry for the hiatus, guys! D I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!  
I know - I love a bit of fluff now and then, but I needed to have Mugen get back to his being a bitch to everyone. I've got two more instalments ready, so I'll have them up for a few days.  
Of course, thanks again to all the reviews, pms and subscribers! I really appreciate your support! And as always, if there wasn't anything you understood about the current plot line, dont hesitate to ask me through a PM!  
OH AND CONGRATS TO EVERYONE ON THEIR MARKS! xD Just thought I would add that.

Inspiration... mmm, well, i listened to the song UGLY - The EXIES for a quite a bit of this chapter. Id recommend it for a download if you would like something new to listen to.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**T I T L **E : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R** : Chapter Thirteen - Her first move.  
A U T H O R : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S **: Mugen x Fuu if you look closely. xD  
**S U M M A R Y** : MUGEN APOLOGIZED?  
Well, not really.  
But what he offered was good enough for Fuu.  
Food for Forgiveness, anyone?  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

He wanted a peaceful sleep.

Was that too much to ask for?

Moaning out his protests, his hands were listless tools that were unable to grab or hold as his body was moved. He was unconscious despite his efforts, in the realm between sleep and reality where his eyes were closed but his mind was waking to a new situation. Above him he heard a muffled thud, a grumble, before his hand was forced over his head. A cool breeze tapped his skin – and he felt exposed when a gentle caress made his way over the fabric around his torso. Then, there was pain: sharp, burning pain as the light touches abruptly became excruciating. The sensations brought around his awakening.

Cracking open one eye, he was unsure what to make of the sight of his face pressed just below the curve of Fuu's clothed bosom; the subtle arc undoubtedly being the hint of her breasts under her kimono. He was too tired to reject and nuzzled her stomach, unperturbed by the sight. From the texture of her clothes and the scent of flowers, he was positive it was Fuu and not some Geisha he may or may not have picked up on the way here. He snuggled into her regardless, and did not draw away even when he heard her inhale a sharp breath.

"Your such a perv, Mugen," he heard her grouse. Not one for insults, the boy would have screamed his protests, but he realised that Fuu did not know he was awake. Peeking from his resting place, he saw the girl cradling him in her arms, careful when she placed him over her thighs to make sure she didn't wake him. It did not work, yet the sight of Fuu being so gentle meant more than the results of her ministrations. Little hands, soft and kept, busied themselves: one hold his head to her, while the other undid the remains of his bandages, pulling them apart. The sight of the wound made her flinch, and she traced the outline of the clean cut with her pinkie, experimenting with the texture of severed flesh. It did not take much for Fuu to draw back and clutch the hand to her chest.

"Nekomi... did a good job cleaning it," Fuu told herself. She looked upset, Mugen noticed, but saw no cause for her sad eyes and sweet frown.

"You gonna cry, girly?" he asked her, forgetting his sleeping act and scaring Fuu into an upright position. Her wide eyes narrowed on his expression for an instant before she averted them to the wound, trying to hide her blush all the while.

"How long were you up for?"

"Not long. Just woke up when I thought some woman was molesting' me in my sleep. Turns out its worse: its you."

Fuu dropped him carelessly back onto the futon, smiling when she heard him groan in pain – the little sadist.

"Bitch," he started, rubbing the back of his head and pulling the bandages along with him, "You really don't know how to treat a patient."

"You're alright, Nekomi fixed you up really well." This time she said it with a smile, and Mugen cocked his brow in confusion. She looked ready to die at the mention of Nekomi a few minutes ago. Now, she was jolly and grinning as if she was the happiest shrimp in the world. He did not hide his bewilderment very well, for Fuu was able it to distinguish it from his usual scowl.

"What?"

"You just... never mind." He was not fucked to reiterate his problems and waved her down. Mugen made himself comfortable in his bed once again, sparing a glance at the wound which had healed amazingly well considering he only received it a few hours ago. Of course, it would open up if he did anything too strenuous, but he thanked Nekomi in his mind for her quick work, even if she was a conniving wench. He was reminded of what she said – her preach on his qualities. Immediately he was infuriated.  
Nekomi was like that. She could get under his skin without trying to. It was the reason he remembered her so well, he assumed. He did not even have to believe her stupid ideas on goodness and the beauty of his personality; nonetheless, the fact that he was thinking about it was just as sad as living by her words. He shouldn't preoccupy himself with nonsense like that, and here he was, the day after he became a free man – in theory – thinking about the bull she came up with. He was losing his grip on what sanity he had hanging around these women.

Fuu was touching him again while he fumed inside, trying to see whether the wound was infected after her first inspection. Mugen yelped at the contact and shied away from her.

"Fool, that stings!"

"You heal remarkably well," Fuu said, voicing Mugen's earlier thoughts. "Still, the people you dealt with must have been pretty good to land such a strike – even if it's not that deep. " She took in a breath. "Was this about that job you were here for?"

He did not understand his intentions, but the criminal shook his head. "Nope. Some thugs I ran into last night." His next point was perhaps, more unnecessary, and he bit his tongue for saying it. "I was pretty near Nekomi's so I went to her for bandages." He said that because? He didn't need to tell Fuu anything, and here he was spilling the story as if she was a part of it. Stupid Nekomi – he was not sure why he was blaming her, but regardless, he was pinning the blame on his old playmate.

Fuu was happy despite his reluctance and automatically, her hand went over his, squeezing it. It moved before she understood why, but once it was there, it refused to move.

"I-I... thanks for telling me, Mugen." The words were hard to say, her face growing hot from his importunate stare flickering from her eyes to the hand over his. He made her heart beat so quickly that it was a wonder she did not pass out from so much of an adrenaline rush. The notion made her think that a kiss from him would send her into a coma. It was a ridiculous thought that made its idiocy known when Mugen finally retracted his hand from under hers to scratch at his long arms. Such a thing would never come to pass.

She scolded herself for not removing it sooner, giving Mugen the advantage, but somehow, she was more hurt than angry. Her eyes were squint, and her lips rolled into her mouth, leaving a dark groove where they used to be. Mugen could not see her, turned on his side, but he sensed that the air had grown heavy from his move. Fuu was already up and moving away from him with her soft footsteps patting the floor when she disappeared behind the screen of her own room. Without any features to depict, she still looked unhappy. Her shoulders, stooping and her head low, her body posture screamed embarrassment and disappointment. Nekomi's words resurfaced once again and Mugen bit back a sense of guilt welling in his gut.

"Yo, Fuu?" he said quickly. It was a spur of the moment call which had no planned plot. He was just howling her name with no hope of asking her anything. He was swearing profusely by the time she answered him with a simple yes; her head turned towards the screen door expectantly.  


"It's like, twelve ain't it?" Fucking small chat. He hated it, but he was still unsure of what he was trying to get at.

"About that time. Why, Mugen? You going out to meet somebody?" Again, she stressed the last word, and part of him yearned to know what was bothering her. The other was too engrossed with finding a solution for their idle prattle.

"Nah. I was wondering if you wanted to get some thin' to eat. There are a few places I know we could go to."

He set himself up for a full scale assault on his personal life. Fuu was the type to pick up the slightly indication to the past and torture him for information. This was one of the few times she was too stunned to do so.  
He saw her shadow perk up, trying hard to mask the excitement that lifted her spirits with deep, reserved breathes. He laughed at her attempt to sound normal, squeaking out a 'yeah, why not' to sound unenthusiastic.

"Bring some money along, by the way," he told her, messily gathering the roll of bandages so he could do a crap job of doing himself up.

"Hmm? Why? Are we going to buy something?" She sounded confused.

"Yeah, dipshit," he scoffed. "Who'd you think is gonna buy the food?"

There's the catch.

There was always an ulterior motive to Mugen's offers.

Still, she could not the smile from coming, even as she went to rummage through the few coins she had stored in her purse – saved for an occasion such as this.

* * *

They took to the docks after an hour of deliberation. Fuu was picky and Mugen was restless. But the weather was mercilessly hot, and by the time they wandered down to the harbour, the 'flake' as Mugen had dubbed her, was practically wallowing in her own sweat. Besides, sea food satisfied their desires, as well as the foreign food products that had found themselves in the restaurant they attended. Both were surprised to find cakes and coloured sweets for sale considering it had become law that only a few places were allowed to store foreign products.

"We've got a good government, 'ere," the salesman told the two while they memorised the strange names of each food product; giving them an easy smile as if he had grown used to tourists and residents with their uncertain faces.

"I didn't know that Satsuma was allowed to buy foreign goods," Fuu said in surprise.

The man rubbed a hand over his neck, looking a little guilty. "Well, I wouldn't say we were allowed, but... we have special privileges thanks to our rulers. We have a good relation with the foreign ships that stop by on their way to edo..." he paused to calculate his next string of words. "In exchange for lodging and our own products, they give us some special treats."  


"That's illegal, ain't it?" Mugen said unflinchingly.

The salesman winked, wagging a finger in Mugen's face, much to his annoyance.

"It's only illegal if you're caught."

Sensing Fuu's displeasure, the man patted her on the head. "Don't worry, miss. Our government strand has a lot of high ranking members. It wouldn't be in their best interests to do anything about this unless it got out of hand. Besides, a few cakes and pastries never hurt anyone!"

_Say that to the fag-theatre noble and his household_, Mugen thought sardonically.

"So do you want to have a bit of this cak-e, missy? You won't be disappointed," the gentleman offered, pointing to the spongy goods that he had for sale. Fuu and Mugen shook their head in unison, deciding on a couple of squids on a stick. They took their goods and wandered outside onto the docks, the pair throwing their legs over the edge so that water could splash onto their sore feet, cooling them as they bathed in sunlight. Mugen used his arms for support, leaning back with three sticks speared into his mouth; saliva dripping from the corner of his lip while he took his time savouring the taste of multiple squid.

Despite her hunger, Fuu was delicate and nibbled from time to time. She was more interested in the scenery. The day was blue and clear, with the sun high in the sky. It was painfully hot, especially in her kimono, but she felt exhilarated. Every pour was steaming, but it was refreshing with the ocean breeze cooling her skin and scenting it with its salty aroma. Her eyes rarely left the sight of the ocean stretched out like an animated wave of colour; from deep blue and silver with splotched of green, it was alive with fish swimming below and sea birds hovering above. Then there was Mugen.

From time to time she would look up him, seeing if he was enjoying this as much as she was. He was as animated as the rocks lying at the bottom of the sea. Scowling, his eyes were distant – a sign that he was deep in thought. While his skin was golden and shimmered with the sweat that broke out from under his hair line, and along the surface of his arms, she looked like she was roasting; her face flushed pink and puffy. Even her hands looked like little hams ready to be eaten!

"I haven't been here in fucking ages."

Staring a conversation? Mugen was being incredibly bold, not that Fuu could complain about this role reversal.

"You've been here before, Mugen?"

"Years ago now. It's one of the first joints I went to after I got outta my execution." Mugen sounded too proud of himself while reminding Fuu of his past. His sinister smirk was proof that after three years, he had not grown into someone more mature about these types of things. Jail was a game; execution was a slight draw back and life was a sport for risk takers. The girl had difficulty swallowing the rubbery bolus in her mouth, and spoke through a cough.

"I... don't know much about you, you know?" she said, hoping that he would pick up on the hint that this was a chance to change all that. Mugen... was Mugen, so when he continued to look ahead in silence, there was only much she could be disappointed.

"I don't think this illegal business is gonna last for long," he told her once while she was staring. He hadn't awoken from his trance, although the glaze in his eye had finally been lifted.

"What makes you say that?" she inquired, busying herself by prodding the remaining sticks of her food into the cracks of the old wooden planks. Fuu backhanded her mouth, satisfied. Yes, he was changing the topic, but at least he was still talking to her.

Mugen's lips turned, shoving the three sticks into the alcoves his smile made.

"Intuition," he told her, thinking back to the noble whose death had yet to be reported. Without his aid, Mugen was sure it was the end to their illegal measures – not that it concerned him. His part of the job was done. With this notion, he was unperturbed by the idea of havoc taking place once the natives found out about the murder of this government official. Mugen had his doubts whether the little dancer had anything to do with the shipments, but considering how the Shogun worked, it was perceivable that he was a threat so the real offenders would back down. It was political. It was stupid, and Mugen tired of the ideas swimming in his head.

He sounded a little too sure of herself, or so Fuu decided.

"Hey Mugen?"

"Yo?"

"Are you sure..." she was running a perfectly good afternoon with Mugen with this, but she continued to satisfy her curiosity, "you really have to do this job or yours? The one you came here for?"

Mugen groaned like a wounded animal, throwing his head back onto his hunched shoulders while pulling the sticks and flinging them into the ocean.

"Ah, what is with you women and asking about my personal business? Fuck, and you were gettin' interesting, Fuu. You really are better when you don't talk."

He didn't realise it, but Fuu could tell he was using his insults as a delay. She scrunched her forehead in confusion, wanting to make the right choice with the vagabond to avoid another confrontation like the other day. Gulping, she carried onwards, recognising instinctively that they would never be able to evade a fight if that was what he wanted.

"I have a really bad feeling about this, Mugen. I know you don't care what happens to you... but..." Exasperated, she curled into a ball, lifting her feet and tucking it into herself as a shelf for her chin. "But... I care. It's scary when I don't know what you are doing or how things will turn out – you might be used to it, but I'm not!" It was all coming out now. Behind her burning cheeks, she was free to blush all she wished. Still, she couldn't meet his gaze and peered out into the open ocean. She captured his attention and now she was paying the price with stage fright.

"Yesterday, you could have died, and I wouldn't have known! I don't want to turn out like Nekomi, who had to hear that her father was murdered by some stranger – I wouldn't survive if a man came to the inn telling me he's found 'the guy you hang out with's' body on the side of the road." Her voice was quivering like she had been physically shaken. It sounded like an instrument that had been plucked, the note vibrating until it faded into an echo. That's what Fuu's voice was like, Mugen thought.

"And look at her now – look at Nekomi. She looks like she is about to break!" she said what both of them had only thought internally, and saying it took a lot more effort than a simple, passing notion. The words were a kick in the ass for Mugen, and he was reminded again of the thing he took away from the aristocrat. Under his breath, he told her to stop talking; however Fuu was too immersed in her dispute to stop.  
"Nekomi's wounds are so deep that she is living in constant pain," she spat, tightening her grasp on her small knees. "I don't want to wind up like her – ever! Please, Mugen... please don't go through with this assignment if there is a chance that I am not going to see you again."

"Fuu, that's 'nuff now," he told her quietly. His head was already aching from her words, not just the sight of Fuu in pain, but the memories of Nekomi when they were still on good terms; so happy, and carefree with a constant smile. He had taken that away from her, hadn't he?

Sniffing, Fuu held back the tears that were welling up. She was being a sentimental fool, but there was nothing she could do when she felt so strangely. For a while, she wished Nekomi was there with them. As pitiful as it sounded, the woman reminded Fuu that there was always someone worse off than yourself. It was a selfish notion, but she needed security more than a moral code.

"You can be a really nice person, Mugen," Fuu whispered, shocking Mugen from a daydream. He watched her roll that word so easily from her tongue, smiling as she did so as if he was her glimmer of hope. "I bet if you try, you could do more than just being a criminal."

"How'd you know," Mugen spat in a low voice, stiffening under Fuu's soft gaze. Her damn innocence again was shining through. It had an aura of its own – an overwhelming presence that she used to damage what resolve he could muster. He had to deal with Nekomi yesterday, and Fuu was utilising the second blow to a shattered barrier against their words; hoping that it would break down his defences. He was not in his right state of mind to know they were hurting him unwillingly – speaking their mind without the intent to offend him. Mugen took this as a direct assault to reach a goal he was unaware of.

"I know," she told him, unable to wipe the moisture that sifted into the lids of her eyes.

"You know fuck-all," Mugen countered hotly, getting up to emphasize his annoyance. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and steadied himself on the planks. He was sweating more than before, even if the temperate was already cooling into the evening. Nice... gentle... good – who the fuck did they think they were to tell him what he was?  
He left her there, flushed and confused. She had reached out for him once, but he dodged the attack, steering away from her little hands like she had the plague.  
Mugen had told her to leave him alone, offering no other explanation and he darted down some unseemly path to find a place – any place – to go to, to find focus.

**N O T E S** : Sorry - I could not allow the fluffliness to consume me right now. I needed to hit a low point in Fuu and Mugen's relationship before bringing it back up, later on.  
I think there are quite a lot of errors in this one, but forgive me if they are not corrected: I wrote this at night, so my mind was not really all there for grammar and spelling. :P

Next chapter will be more progress!  
Hope everyone is enjoying this thus far.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**T I T L** **E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R** : Chapter Fourteen - Forgiveness  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S **: MuuxNek  
**S U M M A R Y** : Fuu had learnt her lesson this afternoon.  
Now he needed to show her accomplice what a monster he really was.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

The day had matured by the time Mugen left the sake bar.

The lights of the streets had been dimmed and the crowds had filtered off into a few wandering strangers whose faces were hidden beneath the brim of a hat. Only the outcasts and misfits chose to stalk the streets at such hours; only the odd pair accompanied by a low class _yūjo (prostitute)_ broke the trend of wandering loners.

The ex-pirate in question seemed suited to the stereotypical night wanderer of Satsuma. His legs were crooked at the knee to find suitable balance and his arms did little swings by his side despite his lack of movement; flailing at his hips in erratic bursts whenever he felt like the pavement was giving way underneath him. Mugen remained poised by the entrance of the bar, absorbing his surroundings like a dog when on the hunt for his prey. In spite of his lack of sobriety there was an innate awareness within him that was masked by his sluggish stance. If anything, he felt more connected. His geta seemed to vibrate with the slightest movement: the wheels of a carrier, jerking as it slipped between the gaps of the stone roads – he could _feel_ it.  
The rumbles of laughter and futile whispers sounded like the annoying hum of insect wings, mingled with the rhythmic clang of water against tin pots and pans. The sake bar was bursting with noise, and he could _hear_ it all as it unfolded behind that small veil that covered the entrance.

Tilting his neck back, he glanced upwards. The stars did not twinkle; they did not shine with an illustrious glow. Rather, they were dim in contrast to lit streets and the contained fires within the lanterns that were hung on rusted pegs overhead.

The wind felt artificial against his skin. He could barely sense the bitter breath of the air as it scraped through the holes in his gi, breathing gusts of cold onto his heated flesh. Such a feminine breeze; frail; broken by the bounty of homes and housing that plagued its path. His tongue probed past his chapped lips and he could _taste_ the salty tang of the ocean. Mugen let out a devilish grin. He imagined that a hint of the Ryukyu was on that wind, blowing the fragrance of death and disease onto this very doorstep, filling his lungs with the tainted scent of the island.

It was just what he needed to awaken the monster within him.

Four walls and domesticated lands had begun to play with him mind; trick him into believing that he could ever mingle with society. He was a loner, a rogue, a stray dog – one that would never be bound by the leash of society or gripped by its problems. The wind reminded him of his purpose; of what was and would always be. Weakened by the barriers of buildings it pushed through with that same forcefulness and wildness that Mugen favored. The stars that were outshined by the modern lights were still there; lingering on that spread of black. They survived despite attempts by society. Like him, they would forever be there; unchanged and unaltered.

Mugen pursed his lips thoughtfully. His mind ran blank. All there was was feeling; was sense in every sense of the word. He had done too much thinking. He acted on impulse – it was his animal instinct that kept him alive. He'd leave thinking to people like four-eyes: everything he did would be in the heat of the moment – none of that pansy-assed crap he had been fed by _those_ chicks. No – not this badass: he would wing it and do everything in his power to break the rules. Just as he had always done.

Mugen lurched forward and every muscle in his body strained to keep him upright. He couldn't recall the last time he had been this drunk – not a very big surprise there. But a little lack of abstinence was not going to ruin his evening. The _ryokan (inn)_ was merely two streets away and if he could manage it, a walk would do him good and help clear the haze that gripped his mind.  
Strutting along the walkway like the louse he was, his eyebrow twitched as he recalled something… that would be of concern had he had his wits about him.

_Fuu._

"Fuu?" Mugen voiced his concerns. While he did look cock-eyed by his slouched frame and unease mannerisms, it was difficult to tell if the boy was drunk from a glance. His shoulders were hunched forward, hips tilted slightly as he walked. Naturally, he swayed from time to time, finding it challenging to keep to one side of the street but Mugen still retained that air about him that betrayed his drunkenness. He could talk – his dialogue would forever be crude so having a little to drink only accentuated that trait. His eyes, with that strange metallic glint in his irises were still bright and enlivened, staring at passengers but looking right through them. Mugen's gaze was sharp, but unfocused; alert, but unclear – with a thin film glazing over each sphere.

He would have missed the ryokan hadn't it been for a _nakai (inn-worker) _that had lingered by the outside of the inn.

"Mugen-san," she blurted unexpected when the young man passed her by without a hint of acknowledgement.

"W'ah?" Glancing up, he saw the entrance of the inn. The vagabond grunted a thanks to the petite woman, giving her behind a gentle tap as he passed which caused her to bolt upright from her polite bow. "Can we get any sake here?" Mugen said loudly, his voice bounding off the walls as he made his way to the entrance, forgetting to take of his metal-plated geta beforehand.

The nakai squealed in surprise. He was going to cost her her job if she wasn't able to shut him up quickly!

"Mugen-san! Please, _please_," she whispered, throwing herself onto his arm with her eyes closed tight. Her ingenuous lunge almost threw Mugen off the terrace.

"W'ah the hell," he grunted, grabbing onto one of the wooden beams that held up the roof over the terrace. The little nakai was clinging to his side, holding his arm in a painful grip. He grinned roguishly and tapped her on the head.

"So you were waitin' for me were ya?" he asked her. He saw her flinch at his question and took it as a sign for a yes when in actual fact she was cringing at the loudness of the voice. "You know, if you wanted me so bad baby, you could'a come ov'r sooner."

Her cheeks flushed a violent crimson and she shook her head against his arm; her locks whipping at her face as if to fend off that interested look Mugen was giving her.

"How 'bout we head off into them bushes ov'r dere and we do da naughty…" His face inched closer to hers and she lost her nerve.

"SIR! Fuu-san told me to wait outside for you incase you didn't find your way home!" she said in a rush, unhinged by his forward demeanor and the prospect of doing anything with him. Fuu had implied that he was… like this – she just wished she had headed her warning – she wouldn't have bothered helping him find the inn if that was the case.

"Fuu?" He had lowered his voice and the nakai was grateful. She allowed her hands to drop back to her sides.

"Yes, Mugen-san."

He grumbled something, cursed and backed away into the screen door. The girl winced, but held her squeals this time.

"Would you like me to escort you to your roo-"

"No. I'll manage."

Kicking off his geta he headed into the gloom of the inn, shoving the door close behind him.

As he entered the room in which he and Fuu shared, his eyes adjusted to the raw light of the moon that seeped in through the screen doors. It illuminated the polished _tatami (flooring)_and the small table that was placed in the corner of the room. The remnants of dinner lingered on the table; some crumbs littered the surface of the ceramic plates; the smell of tea polluting the crisp air. Mugen glanced over towards the two futons, grumbling at the fact that the little body huddled beneath the covers had claimed the larger of the two bed rests – his one, originally.

Fuu's back was facing him. The milky complexion of her neck peaked from beneath the _yutaka (summer-robe)_ she adorned, the curve of her shoulder shining pearl in the new stream of light that pushed through the open door. Mugen frowned and looked over his shoulder at the town behind him. He turned to leave.

"Where you going?" Fuu's voice called to him. He saw that the little brat had been far from asleep. It would appear that she picked up the light sleeping habits that he hand Jin had shared while on their travels. Before, the little bitch wouldn't have woken at the sound of a gun shot, let alone at his noiseless approach.

"Go back to bed, Fuu," Mugen grumbled in response. Her bright eyes were searching and penetrating, boring into his with unnerving persistence. Her brown hair curled cutely round her small face, highlighting the intensity of her gaze and the slight glimmer of moisture on her lips. He felt oddly attracted by the sight of her; yukata hanging from her frame, betraying the hint of a bosom beneath the light material. But the whine of her voice reminded the convict of whom he was dealing with; that, and the caring tone that underlined her question. It made him convulse in disgust, thinking about how she had betrayed her true nature that afternoon during lunch. She was no different than any other house-bred kitty.

"But why are you going out again? Is everything alright?" It looked like she was about to get up, but Mugen waved her down.

"Just go to bed."

"Is this about the assignment?"

Mugen gritted his teeth. She noticed his aggravation, but didn't stop.

"Or are you going to find some woma-"

"Fuu. Go. To. Bed – Now," he growled through gritted teeth. "I gott'a do shit that don't concern you."

The malevolence that laced his words stung and he could see it in the way she drew back that she was hurt by his lack of compassion and appreciation for her concern. But if that what it took for him to get her to sit her ass back down, he had no regrets. Closing the screen door he hobbled back the way he came, ignoring the stuttered question a nakai threw at him as he passed. Where he was going? Away from here! What he was going to do? Whatever he wanted!

* * *

Nekomi sat cross-legged by the opening of her terrace. Her features were taught while she scanned through the piles of parchment that were scattered by her feet. She pressed a finger thoughtfully to her lips, ignoring the muted crash she heard outside her home. The light from the lantern had begun to grow dim; the candle wick dying as it melted into the stand. Under the faint glow, the woman's eyes had become strained and her mind tired from reading the complex calligraphy before her. Her expression was rought with worry lines furrowing on her brow with one last examination of the papers.

Removing the finger she swiped and hand over her features, finally drawing back from her uncomfortable position on the floor.

Suddenly, he heard the thunderous applaud of footsteps outside in the hallway, along with the frantic whispering of her handmaids.

"Shut up, bitches!"

Standing up to meet the assailant, Nekomi clutched the opening of her yutaka, growing anxious as the noise grew louder and hovered behind the screen door that separated her from the intruder. However, as the trespasser's request was repeated, she cocked a brow in surprise.

"Mugen?"

Snapping the screen door to the side, Mugen's rugged features came into view. His arm muscles were tense as they rested on the frame of the entrance, and his chest heaved behind the thin fabric of his undershirt. Behind him the handmaids were chirping excitedly, hands reaching up to touch him before retreating back to their chests in fear. Their excited murmurs were like the drone of little filches in the summer. Obviously, Mugen did not appreciate the sound.

"I said, quit your bitching," he said testily, the cold glare he cast causing the girls to dart back as if he had physically took a swipe at them.

"Mugen?" Nekomi repeated the name, rolling it slowly on her tongue to tease each letter. She sounded foreign when she addressed him; like a Dutchmen trying to spell out Japanese names and titles. Mugen heard her call and turned to face her. She could see, even in this light that his features were drawn; as if he had been in some sort of bawl. Nonetheless the strong odor of sake told her otherwise. A frown stretched across her lips.

"Nekomi-san, Nekomi-san," the girls chanted. "He-he, and- the guards!" Their illogical chants made sense when Mugen gave a wicked grin.

"They're alright princess – didn't kill'em."

"Nekomi-san!" They repeated again to Mugen's disappointment. "What do we –"

"It's alright girls. Leave us be," she said calmly, trying her utmost to offer them a comforting smile. The began twittering wildly once more though they dashed off into the recesses of the hall way as Mugen finally shot a hand out to scare them. He nearly lost his balance in the process and lurched forward.

"Ugh. Fuckin' brats," he hissed as he regained his composure, side glancing at his companion before he stepped into her room.

"What are you doing here, Mugen?"

"Meh, du'nno." He shrugged his shoulder as he closed the screen door behind him. "Thought I'd stop by."

"Fine."

Mugen winced at her response and shot her a confused look. "What?"

Nekomi had wandered to her post by the terrace, staring into the setting of Satsuma by the small blind that fell over the screen door to the porch. Her interest in the city overshadowed the importance of him being here, and Mugen did not enjoy her lack of anger.

He was fed up with it – fed up with her and Fuu being so God-Damn tolerant. He was an animal; a beast – he could not be trusted. And yet, here they were accepting every insult and abiding to his every flaw and lack of social respect. What the hell was wrong with them? Did he think that he was tame? If that was the case they were wrong. Both of them had tried his patience; wandering into his private space because they thought their words could override his natural flair of destruction. The Mugen they knew would never exist. Nekomi should have learnt from her mistakes years ago that he was a lost cause.

He had taught Fuu her lesson at lunch.

It was Nekomi's turn now.

"You're 'till that dumb bitch I met on the island, aren't ya?" he growled, his chin jutting out outrageously as he peered at her through heavy lids. He had more to drink before he came, and he hadn't a clue how he was still standing. Perhaps his frustration drove him; the idea that he was becoming softer… somehow. He wouldn't have any of it - it was ending now.

"Why do you have to do this, Mugen?"

"Huh?"

"You always have to insult someone."

"That's how I am, _bitch_."

She shook her head sadly. This was the first time had seen her in her casual wear. With the absence of makeup and an expensive kimono she really did look more approachable. Her hair stretched just below the joint of her shoulder blades, sleek like liquid tea that glistened ever so slightly in the light as she moved. The shorter lengths framed her oval face, adding to the shadows that enclosed her face in light and dark, yet they were unable to disguise the sharp bags that hung beneath her eyes. She was tired – tired physically and mentally. Still, her controlled persona cloaked the extent of her exhaustion.

"Are you really? Is that you talking, or the Ryukyuan prisoner?"

"W'ats the diff'ence? They're the same people."

"No they're not. Mugen you don't need to act like this – you don't have to prove you're anything like you were-"

"Shut it!"

Mugen's voice bounced off the walls. "You know bollocks all about me," he snorted, moving in a little closer to narrow the gap between them. Despite the harshness of the voice, she didn't flinch. He felt his temper rising with each passing second. _Why wasn't she screaming for her life? He was a killer; a thief; a criminal; a monster – did she not understand that?_

"You know I stole that necklace right?" Mugen blurted out unexpected. The words came out slurred. His tongue was heavy and slapped against his teeth as he spoke. "I took that piece'a shit you know – 'fore you drop'ed my ass on the island, 'nd sold it the first chance I got."

He rested his hands on his narrow waist, gloating at the admittance. He knew the importance of that necklace all too well.

Nekomi's faultless posture faltered after a moment; her gaze finally dropping to the ground. "You think I abandoned you?"

Mugen's jaw dropped. "Did you not hear w'aht I said? I stole that-"

"I guessed that a while after I left. I thought I had misplaced it, but after a time I knew that you probably picked it up…"

A silence settled between them, and Nekomi's present hovered over Mugen with such intensity that he thought it would suffocate him. She just watched him – with that pitying stare. He couldn't stand how she could remain so level-headed! The concept didn't exist in his system.

"So, you felt guilty about taking it?"

Mugen head lolled to the side, his tongue lapping at the dry cracks of his lips, feeling them sting as the moisture seeped into the diminutive splits.

"Guilty? Fuck that. Like I'd feel guilty for takin' your shit."

"You wouldn't have told me otherwise, Mugen," she explained calmly. While she spoke, her eyes flickered curiously as Mugen stepped closer towards her. Although she was comfortable with the convict, there was something about the way he conducted himself that caused her to step back. It wasn't fear, per say – but just precaution.

"You think you know me so well, don't'cha? Think I am not capable of bein' bad?"

"I don't assume that… I just." She felt the wall manifest behind her, the cool surface prickling at her skin. "You don't need to be like this Mugen… you're a good person-"

Mugen's wrist seemed to fly in a blur past her head; the vision of the blue tattoos stripped across his golden skin acting as an ominous reminder that he had killed; he had plundered and he could easily do something to her. He wasn't that little boy that she left on the island.

His hand was resting inches from the outline of her head; the wall shaking so violently that she was afraid it would crumble around her. Nekomi's eyes had been closely shut as she saw his arm extend towards her, but at the sound of the impact, they reopened, blinking furiously up at the boy – no, the man.  
The stench of alcohol wafted off him, festering in her lungs as his breath pooled in front of her orifices. He was so close now, glaring at her. The animal abandonment was evident in his fiery gaze, piercing into her heart and soul. For the first time she feared for her safety. The silver in his eyes glinted maliciously beneath the glaze of his iris. His hair did not defy gravity as much as it had in the past – it flopped in spikes around his face, curling into his eyebrows and dipping in front of his line of sight – but he didn't remove them. It made him look far more wild and aggressive.

"Good, huh? Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"Mugen… I-"

His other hand flung out and landed on the other side of her head, and the hairline break in the walls imitated the sound of crackers been broken as it split at little above her head.

"Nuh-uh, Nekomi – don't g've me _any_ more bullshit to swallow! Answer the question," he brought his face closer to hers, his mouth hovering over the little protrusion of her ear that peaked beneath her veil of hair. She tilted her head away in response, staring up at the wall as his warm breathe pooled around her neck. Her words were caught in her throat and she could only whimper for a time; the sight of Mugen distracted by the way their shadows formed in the wall; ominous, looming figures that darkened the length of the wall with their necks cutting off awkwardly as their heads stretched out against the ceiling at the top. But the light was growing dimmer with each passing moment and their silhouettes faded with them.

"C'me on…" Mugen jeered.

"That night – you remember when I first met you?"

Mugen was going to say he didn't recall but she interrupted him.

"When you gave me back the necklace you took."

He obviously was considering something – the pause indicated that much. Nekomi however, deluded himself that he was taking into account her example. In actual fact, he was trying to recall why exactly he had given her the damn thing back. His grin faltered and his eyes became narrowed.

"I didn't do t'at shit for nothin', you know. I expected to get something back out'ta it. But I never really did now, did I?"

Nekomi's face was still turned towards the opposite wall. Her thin arms were rested tightly on either side of her yutaka, with fists balled up at the ends. Her hair was pulled back over her shoulder, exposing the revealed flesh of her neck that strained from the way she turned her head; causing the tendons to jut unseemly from that pasty white skin.  
Gods she was white; almost exceeding the mark of what was appropriate. Whereas Fuu had tints of pink littering her entire body – he'd seen how her thighs blushed during that baseball game – Nekomi had so little color on her skin that she was like a phantom. Even the faint rosy hue of her full lips or the blush that lined the curve of her cheeks seemed radiant against her pale flesh. However, her color (or lack of) was becoming of her; just like the way her red yukata was teased opened round her chest, exposing that hint of skin that was enough to tempt anyone to touch. That too… was aptly suited to the young woman.

"Maybe… I'll take my reward now."

She didn't understand what he meant; she couldn't understand anything at the moment – her mind was just blank. All she could recognize was that Mugen's hand dropped towards her neck, his coarse fingers tightening faintly around it. _He's going to kill me…_

But then she felt it; that burning heat; the scalding trickle of moisture running up the span of her nape.

Mugen hadn't been able to resist: he wanted to taste her and feel the smooth texture of her skin beneath his tongue. As pressed the broad width of it against her flesh, he smiled as he felt her pulse flutter as he stroked upwards with his tongue; the beat of her heart noticeably faster as he prolonged the lick. As he drew back he noticed her shiver and mistook her anxiety for pleasure.

"Enjoy that baby?" he cooed, his tones laced with venom as he took in her withering form. He could taste the sake on his breath, and feel the impending headache to come. But he didn't care – he was showing her – showing all of them that he was a beast; a monster, and he could not be trusted. He would let them down. _He would make them hurt_. Strangely, his self-contempt drove him to continue. He didn't want their admiration or trust – he didn't _need_ them. He didn't _deserve_ them.  
The light was fading fast now – only the faintest glimmer coming from the lantern. In spite of this he could see ever tremor and every twinge of her features. She hadn't moved from her spot on the wall, but her fists were now shaking with such ferocity that he knew that she was in some sort of physical pain.

"Mugen…" she whispered, finally turning her face to meet his. His fingers remained around her neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath it. It would have been gentle if he could restrain himself but a monster like him didn't know the meaning of the word. Instead of light strokes, his callous thumb caused her skin to grow a violent shade of red under the friction of his caress. He stared at the marks in awe, his lips pouting in a childlike way as he repeated the motion a few more times. _I will let you down. I will make you hurt._

Seeing that his attention was focused elsewhere, Nekomi made a swift turn to the right, hoping to move as far away from Mugen as possible. She didn't even manage to get a few steps from him before Mugen's vice like grip closed in around her flailing arm, and shoved her back against the wall. She squirmed like a fish, trying to wriggle out from under his grasp. Mugen just delighted in her struggles, and pressed his body against hers, pinning her like a fly against the wall. One hand clasped her wrists as easily as they would a set of twigs, pulling them above her head to stop him from clawing at him.

They balled into fists once more.

Her body soon felt limp against his, only the slight rise and fall of her chest indicating that she was still alive. It appeared as if she had resided to her fate – and so soon? He laughed heartlessly, his necked craned to stare into her face which was concealed by her chocolate locks.

"C'me on girly, I know you can fight bett'r than that. Daddy taught you a few tricks, didn't he?" His stomach turned at the harshness of his words. It was hurting him to say it; it hurt him to press up against her so wantonly, gripping such an innocent creature in his monstrous clutches. She reminded him of her bird beside them, hidden beneath the curtain over its cage – that same bird from the island. Still, he could hear the parakeet's frantic cries as it bounced around its golden prison. The image resonated in the scene that unfolded before him: inside Nekomi was screaming at the top of her lungs like that little bird, but she was too proud a person to show it. _Just hate me; yell at me and I'll stop, Nekomi…_

"Why don't you fight, huh? You really want this?" He accentuated his words by pressing himself harder against her. She let out a strange groan, but this time he knew it was because of the added pressure that he forced upon her. Such a small, frail body could only take so much weight; she would break before long.  
They were so close together now that Mugen could feel every curve and contour of her frame. They could even be mistaken for a couple embracing, with Mugen's face buried against the damp underside of her hair, inhaling in that scent of cherry blossoms. Her chin just rested above the dip of his shoulders and her erratic breaths just grazed past the lobe of his ear when she tried to rest against him. But he pushed her back by the hand that encircled her neck, forcing her head against the wall.

"Mugen, pl-"

He didn't want to hear her pleas – it was difficult enough. He pressed his lips roughly against hers to muffle her words, tongue battling with hers to stop her from even trying to form a syllable of her phrase. Her lips yielded to his attack, but she wasn't responding – just accepting all that he threw at her. The hand around her neck slipped from their position, snaking over the sides of her delicious curves – admiring that tiny waist before the jut of her hip. He gripped it tightly, causing the girl to whimper into his mouth. His face furrowed as he lost himself in the haze of his assault, barely giving her enough time to breathe as he probed her mouth with his tongue. The palm of his hand lingered over the elegant arc of her hip; fingers busily working to hike the length of her yukata upwards to feel the unclothed flesh of her thigh. As his cold touch collided with the scalding heat that resonated from her thigh, she yanked her mouth away from Mugen, twisting it painfully to the side to escape the voracity of his lips. He didn't care to look at her. His eyes were firmly shut, knitting his brow together at the center while his mouth wandered to the surface of her neck, nipping at whatever his lips browsed over.

He felt her incline towards him again, face pressed against the arch that formed with his chest bowed out around her like its own prison. She blew hot gusts of air against him, and he felt his shirt grow damp.  
"I'm so sorry, Mugen," she whispered into him, her shuddered breathes alerting him to the fact that she was crying. "I'm sorry for everything."

He backed away immediately, removing every part of himself that touched her like she was on fire. And like a strand of wet noodle, she flopped to the floor inelegantly; one hand on the wall behind her, while the other rested over the fold of her ornate yukata that fanned out around her collapsed legs. She was Beauty in the breakdown.

He was panting hard as he stared down at her. He didn't understand her. What was she sorry for? What had she done to him that was worse than what he had been doing? He couldn't stand to look at her. The effects of his handiwork were unmistakable as he came down from his violent high. Her neck had small grazes from his bites and the imprint of fingers was on display for all to see. The lips he had bitten were so full and plump; a deep shade of burgundy in contrast to the white of her skin.

"What?" was the most intelligent response Mugen could think of. His voice crocked as he spoke, trying to be gentle. He had failed in doing what he wanted – he had failed to break her bond with him. Instead, it looked that he stripped her of that proud façade; that fiery spirit that he admired. She was a shell of the person he had seen when he had walked in. Nonetheless, she still tried to talk – tried to explain to him. She wasted so much time on trying to help him and he had the decency to do _this_ to her. He was a monster.

"I'm sorry I left you, Mugen… I am sorry that I couldn't help you."

He didn't quite understand what she meant… but subconsciously he accepted it. She thought that she abandoned him on that island – being the stupid, caring person that she was, that it was her fault that he wound up like this. He knew, secretly that was what she was implying. He had sussed that much – it was just now realizing that on a conscious level that he needed to work on.

He took a tentative step forward and outstretched his arm to touch her. She was watching his looming figure out of the corner of his eye. She recoiled at the sight, but continued to talk to him. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I just thought…" She never finished the sentence.

Mugen bent down near her. His gestures mimicked that of some sort of ape. He used to back of his hand to brush her hair away from her face, scared that his fingers would rip into her pliable skin like a knife would butter. His curved back showed this primal descent and it wouldn't have surprised anyone when he inched closer to Nekomi, that he would have propelled himself with his knuckles.

"But then, I had to leave… I had to come back here." In the midst of her own world she hadn't noticed that he had come so close so when she placed her arm outwards and touched Mugen's wrist it was a shock for both. Nonetheless, she left it there.  
The whirlwind of occurrences had Mugen speechless – he wasn't soft or gentle. He couldn't embrace her – especially not after what he almost did to her – or offer her some sort of consolation. He had grown up in a town where it was survival of the fittest – none of this emotional crap which got in the way. He recalled that night battling Sara. Beautiful statue: with the chiseled features of a stone ornament and all the emotion of one too. They weren't so different, were they?

"Stop crying, Nekomi," he grunted. He winced as her eyes focused up on him: so innocent that it made him sick to think that someone like him touched her. His thoughts briefly wandered to Fuu. They were different physically – Fuu and Nekomi; how Fuu bursts into tears with water spouting from her eyes, while the tears cascade like streams from Nekomi. Or, how Fuu ravages an entire food-store into her gob while Nekomi daintily addressed her plate like it was made out of gold. All the same, there was something within the two that Mugen recognizes at the same draw that the keeps him drawn to both.

Despite his command, Nekomi was still crying. He grumbled.

"I shouldn't hav' done that to you," Mugen said, hoping his mild attempt at an apology would suffice. She shook her head in response.

"It's not that, you silly b-bro-broad," Nekomi managed to say with a forced chuckle, staring up into Mugen's shocked expression. "I don't care about that-"

"But-"

"I am just so… _ashamed_ that I couldn't help you."

"Ah, shut it," Mugen told her. His voice was tinged with sadness as he said it. Even he hated this parade of emotion – why was she so God-damn kindhearted? At least Fuu smacked him some; Nekomi has dealt with his attitude since they were kids and just took all of it without question. "Stop talkin' bout that shit. It ain't your business."

Unexpectedly, the boy motioned to curl his arms around her, lifting her compact form as easily as he would a bundle of hay. She sagged like hay, even, her head and feet drooping while they curled inwards towards his chest. Her fingers clutched blindly at his clothes as he brought her to her futon. So trusting – she just trusted him so inexplicitly. He didn't understand how she could. Experience didn't grant her that fear of people he'd expect her to heed to in such dangerous times.  
As if sensing his internal confliction, she explained to him. "I have faith in you Mugen. I always have. It is just… a feeling – a certain feeling I have… do you understand?" Mugen nodded. He understood feeling; and gut instinct – maybe his natural instinct for battle wasn't the only intuition it was possible to have. He didn't know and didn't want to question her. He might ask Fuu about it when he went home… whenever he went home, that is. For now, his impending migraine dominated much of what he was thinking.

Settling back on the Futon he kept her placed over her lap; resting her in the cradle his legs formed as they crossed at the ankle beneath him. He kept her close, perhaps because he felt that she needed some form of comfort and if he wasn't going to give it to her, there were few others that could.

He felt her small hands stroke across his chest and he hated to admit that the gentle ministrations made him relax. He couldn't offer that that same caliber of reassurance. He wasn't queer enough to be able calculate these types of things – his hands were for groping, ripping and tearing. Not so much caring.

Together, the minutes seemed to ooze into hours. Nekomi was whispering into him, consoling him, confiding in him. He felt useless, like a dumb brute whose sole purpose was to act as a support. But after what he did to her, he didn't believe that he should be complaining about his predicament. After all, the fact that she even allowed him to touch her was miraculous.

The girl thumbed the etching of her jaw line, the salient protrusion of the bone appearing to quell her thoughts; the glare of her eye dimming as a glassy residue soaked her iris till the jade hue was indistinguishable from the abyss of her pupils (the moon had disbanded behind the wave of clouds – darkness nests a second layer of black over the scene). Mugen realized that the light from the candle has finally died, but didn't say much. He didn't want to interrupt her story and tried to listen intently to her flustered mumbles. She spoke to him of Satsuma, whispered her fears into the night to hear the resonance of silence as the darkness engulfed her qualms and uncertainties. He heard an appreciative comment about his presence and he tried to hush her with a cough – yet, if the words ceased to flow from her lips, her body imitated her affection and trust for him. This was the most they had spoken – the most she had confided in him since they had been brought together by fate, years after their initial departure. It was strange that Mugen brought that out of her in the most inappropriate way, when they had been at each other's throat at every meeting. Had he taken this step when she healed his wounds, would they have come so close? He didn't know.

Staring down at her, Mugen smiled weakly. She was beautiful in his arms; a delicate loveliness that conflicted with his scar-ridden arms that are large and inelegant in comparison to her petite physique. Their incompatibility was prominent in all aspects of life – and Mugen thought logically with a level head about these types of matters. He never deluded himself that grandeur was attainable for the likes of him. Fuu had once told him how she envied the upper-class. Her admittance was brought on by the woman in the boat that glided across the river during their travels with Sara. They had stared at her in awe; admiring the ornate décor of her jewels and the way her entire body was immersed behind the rich textures of her clothes. They had all gawped – save for Mugen and Sara. Well, her being blind had something to do with it, but it was apparent that she had sensed that beneath the shroud of makeup and wealth, she was nothing – just bones, meat and flesh like them. If anything, Mugen would have felt a shred of pity for someone like herself, had he the tools to feel such emotions. At least they had freedom. What did she have to fall back on?

But he didn't think deeply about these things, especially now. He bathed his lips with his tongue, feeling them crackle and burn. His head was swimming still; and that alcohol that pulsed through his body had that lingering lethargic effect on him.

Nekomi shifted above him with her calves sliding against his knees. They peaked like silver crests of the moon and Mugen found himself watching them keenly.  
But he felt sick; dirty. Just like with Fuu. When he's drunk he cannot contain himself; he cannot rid that animal impulse to grab and rip and tear. Inside, there is a conflict raging against what he wants, and what he cannot have.  
But _cannot_ is not a word that Mugen understands. He sees the restraints – the weakness, and not the practicality of it. He cannot have _her_.

Mugen moved uncomfortably, pushing Nekomi from him with a sense of urgency. If he couldn't have her, the only way to combat his desire was to get her as far away from him as possible.

"I'm gonna go back," he murmured turning his head to the exit to avoid her fierce stare. He felt her fingers tighten its hold on his gi and he redoubled his efforts to move from her.

"Mugen, what's wrong?"

"Get off Nekomi," he said gruffly, glad when she finally allowed him to move. He settled her on the bed before turning to leave before he caused any more damage. Nonetheless, he would never get the satisfaction of having things done the easy way. She had taken hold of his hand, preventing him from a short and peculiar departure.

"What are you afraid of, Mugen?"

He stared down at her and could not answer. Now, all he could hear was Mukaro's voice. Asking him, what he was afraid of. Kohza's face flashed briefly. Back when Mukaro asked the same question he thought it was his hatred for Nekomi that coaxed him into taking up the offer of piracy. Now, he knew it was his love for Kohza that prompted him to follow Mukaro. To take her from that hell that they were confined to – to keep her safe.

Now? With Nekomi? He wasn't sure what he was afraid of. It was a blend of fears; fear of losing control; fear of letting go of the hate that protected him from the outside world. All these things he was scared of losing if he stayed.

"Do you despise me so much?" she was crying once again, but there were no more strangled breathes when she spoke. Her voice was as steady as it had ever been, and her resolve infinitely stronger than Mugen's could ever be.

"Stop talkin' Nekomi. Just let me go," he murmured.

"No!" she said firmly, surprised by the determination in her voice. "No, I will not. Have you forgotten everything we had? Have you forgotten how much I _adored_ you?"

"You left Nekomi." Mugen stated, his voice rising. "Is that how you treat the people you adore?"

She considered what he said before speaking. "I had no other choice."

"You always have a choice Nekomi. Everyone does."

"Like your choice to become a criminal? What was the alternative Mugen?"

The instance her grip loosened, he whipped his hand back. They stared at each other; a show down of nerves. Mugen's angry gaze was piercing, Nekomi's, a brick wall of resolve.

"That's different," he told her confidently, though his features softened when he saw her leer up at him.

"Is it? Is it really?"

No it wasn't. It was and wasn't at the same time. They were not given the same opportunities. Mugen was not given the lavish lifestyle of the governor's daughter. He was raised in a camp which bred criminals – and what he began did not divert from what he was destined to become. Yes – destined. It was fate. Nothing could alter him – nothing. Not Nekomi's words of wisdom, not Fuu's pleas for change.

Mugen found himself staring at Nekomi intently once more. It was torture seeing the way her chest rose with each breath, or how every curve of her body was suited to her nightgown. In the haze of his thoughts, Nekomi had gripped his hand and he was dragged closer to her.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked him once more.

Leaning forward Mugen caught her lips in his in an awkward kiss.

This is what he was scared of. His lack of social propriety – his monstrousness, his uncapped love for destruction; an inability to behave in the presence of such a well-bred little princess. This was innocent in spite of the wrongness of it all. And Mugen knew that regardless of what Nekomi told him – of his purity and ability to do good – every man was the same when it came down to it, when left alone with a woman in a bedroom.

He waited for her to make the first move, certain that she would pull away any second. He counted on her to do so, for he did not have the strength or resolve to do it himself.

Unexpectedly, he felt his lips gently pried open; a soft tongue pushing into his mouth. And when that happened, Mugen was positive that there was no going back regardless of whether or not she would permit him to go forward. No, and cannot were not answers he would not tolerate.

"What are you doing?" he breathed, tugging his lips away. He was amused to see her incline to kiss him once more, but regained control at the last instant.

"What I want, for the first time in years." Nekomi's eyes slid shut as she spoke though a frown made its way to her lips. "What are you doing? I thought you hated me."

"I do. I probably always will."

Nekomi opened her mouth to reject, but Mugen was quick to silence her with another kiss – harder this time. He was glad that she yielded to his touch but did not allow him to take control. Her hesitancy was quickly pushed aside and Nekomi was meeting Mugen's aggressive kisses. Her small hands pulled him closer, in the process coaxing her back onto the futon. What was right was the awkwardness: they could not help but feel like two puzzle pieces forcing each other fit despite their differences. Her hard angles pressed against his, a contrast to the slight feminine curves she possessed while he slid against her, making his head swim. Too many things made them incompatible; socially, mentally, psychologically and everything in between. But that's what made it so fun – that the odds were stacked against them; doing something that was wrong on so many levels that rationality faded away behind their shaky breaths and eager touches.

Experimentally, he felt for the ribbon of her robe, and smiled when his mind fell into a blissful state of senseless, putting his brain to rest while his body went to work on something he was far more equipped to handle.

* * *

The woman bowed her head, pressing her brow onto the dirt floor in a humble bow.

"Did he finish the job?" the man barked, almost losing the narrow pipe from the movement of his lips. The amber tip glowed menacingly in the dark as he inhaled, spewing the mist from his mouth in a halo of white.

Glancing up, she shook her head, eyes wide as the man – one of the most influential people in Japan – allowed the expensive pipe to fall from his lips and shatter on the ground.

**N O T E S** : H'OKAY! Things are getting back on the road with this chapter! xD If Mugen is out of character, I apologise, if he is in character, I am glad you think so!  
He is damn difficult to play when you put him in situations like this. Honestly! So I hope you dont' find my interpretation too horrible.

If you are pissed off and like, WTF, ZOMG (xD) wot is Mugen doing, then I am glad. If you are feeling for Fuu, I am even happier.

Don't worry MuFuu fans (like meself). Wait and see - the next chapters should cater to our needs. xD This step was necessary to bring our fave boy and girl together.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**T I T L** **E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R** : Chapter Fifteen - It Thickens  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S **: MuuxNek  
**S U M M A R Y** : It is time to mend the loose end.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

"You're up early."

Peering over the covers, Mugen was squint staring out into the room. His hands, sluggish and uncoordinated, rubbed his eyes; a child waking to the world with the morning light.

Light: it was a fucking pain in the ass.

Groaning, Mugen was hiding his face in his covers before he could check his surroundings, earning a laugh from Nekomi in compensation.

Typical with his alcohol consumption, the migraine was nothing unexpected. In fact, he almost enjoyed the way his head throbbed to the beat of his pulse, as if a ball was bouncing around in a small court. It provided some indication that was alive. Since his body was still warm with sleep, pain was a sharp contrast to his pampered frame.  
Rolling round, he recalls the distorted images of last night while he attempting to get back to sleep. It was hazy, but after a few minutes, was able to puzzle together an image of what had taken place. He smirked into the pillow, a snort blowing through his nose while he tittered to himself. Naturally, this did not go unnoticed.

Placing the pen onto her desk, Nekomi huffed. "You look too proud of yourself, Mugen," she told him sternly, although she could not help smiling herself. "Approach such matters with more poise."

"Fuck poise," he said through a yawn, flopping onto his back. His fingers scratched lazily at his chest, content like a cat that has had his fill of food. Against the white of the sheets, Mugen complexion was radiant; more golden than Nekomi was used to seeing. In bed it looked like she would blend into mattress, while the other was brazen, lying there in full glory. She was consumed by his appearance for a minute or so, watching him shameless as the cat lolled in a sleep induced haze of gratification. But, happiness was only a temporary state, or so she came to accept.

Glancing down, there was an unmistakable look of confusion, tinged with sadness. Lips in a frown, she rimmed them with a fingertip finding them swollen and flushed. She thought that Mugen's presence would have distracted her with notions of the past, and their immediate present. It was a disappointment that the gruesome images did not lose their potency, infecting her mind and racking her body with fear. Numbers were frequent visitors to her thoughts; warnings and quotas designed to tangle ones concepts with meaningless symbols and words. Pensively, she rubbed her temples, trying to remember all the details of her conversation with Kali.

Opening her closed eyes, she saw that Mugen was watching her attentively. She wondered how long he had his eyes on her, and questioned whether he had noticed her previous apprehension. Whether he knew or not, he gave no indication of noticing her distress.

"Oi, I nailed you, ne?" he said in a teasing voice – a boy through and through as he gloated over his triumph. It made her scoff in amusement. She even allowed the vulgar comment to slip by.

"You can't figure that out for yourself?" she replied good-naturedly, fishing through papers that were on her desk to arrange them in a neat pile. Her eyes never left them. "I don't think it matters, either way."

Mugen scratched his messy hair. "I remember quite a lot." He tried to sound nonchalant, despite his playful grin. "But I am surprised."

"About?"

"For a princess you sure do a lot'a things I'd expect from a wh-"

"Horticulturist? I am sure that's what you meant to say?" she interrupted before he could get another letter in, sidelong glancing at him to make sure he understood that she was serious when she did not want to hear the last part of his sentence.  
Sulking, Mugen returned her look with a glower. Just because they spent some time together did not mean that she could shut him up whenever it pleased her. Still, he could not come up with a comeback – partially because he did not understand the meaning of a horticulturist. It would be her win, for now.  
Tentatively, he took to his thoughts. Nekomi did not look much better; however, they way they talked it harkened to her light-hearted personality – something he thought she lost after the death of her father. He felt around his hair line, squinting. Her father...

He tried to distract himself from the thought.

Pointing at the papers, he said, "You look busy. Homework while your hubby's away?"

"Something like that," she said distractedly. Again, she looked nervous and she rubbed her face to erase the expression. As she had trained herself to do, she smiled at Mugen. "Would you like some tea to drink, or maybe a..."

She wanted to continue to list what she could bring him, but with the death-stare Mugen gave her, it was impossible to find the words, let alone compose them in a sentence.

"You're not very good at hiding, so stop the bullshit, Nekomi," Mugen said testily. Her falsity irritated him to the point where he was willing to sacrifice their good terms for an argument. He had noticed that something was wrong when he came in last night – why she was in such a vulnerable state. Drunkenness did not allow for much consideration of course, but he had recognised the signs.  
Biting her lip, Nekomi nodded, fearing that she would have to concoct some lie to avoid his prying gaze and remain on good terms. She felt a little more secure with him – and even if it was that little bit, it went a long way from being utterly alone in the mission she was trying to accomplish.

"I... uh," she fumbled.

"You don't have to tell me, you know." Mugen intervened before she could get a head of herself, his lips in a pout while he sat up in bed with his hands stretched out behind him. He cringed and scratched at the bandage that continued to cover his wound.

Grateful for his words, she rewarded him with a genuine smile and was moving to his side before either of them could think about the next step. She placed herself beside him, glancing up sheepishly when they were within reach of each other – finally forgetting the reason for closing the gap between. He looked at her suspiciously when she finally managed to spill out a 'thank you'; that being the only thing she seemed to want to say judging by the silence that ensued. He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Retard. Don't have to thank me for that shit. Don't think just because I was nice to you last night it changes anything," he warned. Already he felt that his masculinity was a threatened by the proximity she was willing to shorten.

"Nice?" Nekomi looked up at him with wide eyes, losing her composure for a minute.

"Just because you did not rape me, you were being nice?" she questioned, her brows knit. Anger flared up in her eyes when he laughed in her face, sending spittle onto her cheeks when he opened his mouth like some gaping fish. She wanted to smack out those teeth from his head; but that thought alone threw her into confusion. She had not wanted to hurt someone in so long that it was a wonder that she could even trace that thought to its origins.

Perturbed, it was a form of relief when Mugen wiped off the residue from his mouth from her face – the motion rough, but the gesture, cordial. He lent forward while he still had the element of surprise, nipping at her lower lip with a growl before drawing back so he wasn't speaking into her mouth.

"I don't think a rape-victim would be a willing as you are; or quite as willing to show 'er talents as a wh-horiticultu-whatist." He gave a vicious grin, noticing how her cheeks burned from the comment. Her eyes were flickering, soft and empty one moment, fiery the next. It was like she battling with herself – how he had battled – with her personalities. He could see moments where he could swear he was staring into the eyes of the little girl on the island; and then the next, stunned by the desolate gaze of the wife, Nekomi who was too lady-like to be of interest.

"So, did I?" he asked, finally.

"Do you what, Mugen?" He would have assumed she was teasing him – it was so blatantly obvious that you would have to be a fool not to know. However, there was nothing to suggest she was playing coy.  
Blinking up at him with her peculiar eyes, Mugen drew forward in amusement, leaning towards her ear to whisper the words in detail.

With each vulgar phrase or intimate detail, her expression became more and more stoic, but she was unable to control her blush. Clearing her throat with an uneasy cough, she shrugged her shoulders unreceptively, clutching one hand around the collar of her robe as if Mugen's gaze would force it open.

"That's for you to figure out on your own," she said as if they were discussing some decision in life that Mugen would have to unravel. The response made him growl in frustration. Still, he came up with a solution.

Grabbing her shoulders, he flexed his fingers around each bony protrusion, earning a yelp of protest from the girl.

"How bout we wrestle for the answer?" he challenged.

Nekomi stared at him dumbstruck until she could not hold the sudden outburst of laughter.

"Are you joking? I... I can't possibly..." She told herself she didn't remember how to fight, but her muscles had memorised the movements to memory and at the mention of a challenge, they gave an anxious twitch. Her entire body was flooded with adrenaline; even her mind begged for her to accept.  
Automatically, her delicate hands went to his torso – one hand placed on his chest, the other sinking to his midriff. She had been gentle, but Mugen, despite himself, winced.

"Alright," he began as if nothing had happened, a broad grin on his face, "Lets... Nekomi? "

She had already stopped listening to him by the time he forgot the mild ache. Reaching down, her lithe digits hurriedly went to work, despite his protests. He made a grunt to object – placing a hand on her shoulders to ease her away – while her hands weaved the bundle of fabric from his stomach, trying to unravel it to the last strand where she could see the mark clearly. She had unwound the sheet only a few times before the blood stain became clear, already seeping through the layers. There was not enough blood to suggest that he had wounded himself again, but Nekomi was sure that he must have opened the cut through his movements.

"You haven't been resting," she exclaimed in a low voice, dragging her fingers away and placing the on her lap. Mugen did not look as guilty as she had anticipated. He huffed and rolled his arms over his chest.

"Well, if you told me everythin' we did last night in detail, I'd remember if I did anythin' strenuous."

She ignored his prying and motioned towards the bandages. "I'll clean the wound again and-"

"Nekomi-sama? Nekomi-sama, are you awake?"

Giving a hiss of surprise, Nekomi glanced fearfully towards the door. The light formed a perfect shadow on the screen; outlining her assistant, Kali's emaciated form. She immediately knew what the woman wanted.

"Mugen, you have to go out – now – go to the terrace!" the woman whispered, pushing him in the direction of the set destination. He was reluctant to move.

"Why the heck should I?" he said, though he kept his voice low. "I ain't a fuckin' kid anymore; I don't care if that twiggy bitch knows I've been banging you!"

"I care, Mugen!" she said in earnest, getting up herself to see if she could haul him out. "I need you to hide behind the door." She was in such a rush to see him out that when Mugen complied, the force of his tug nearly sent him flying into the bird cage that hung overhead. He swore, and Kali's shadow gave a distinguished jolt at the deep mumble she could hear inside the room.

"Nekomi-sama?" she repeated, urgency in her voice. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied, torn between laughing at this situation and throwing herself into a pool of rocks. It reminded her of all those times she would have to Sheppard Mugen out of her room while she stayed on the island. A maid would come in while they ate and he would just manage to hide under the bed, or crawl outside while a servant was distracted. But Kali was no ordinary servant. With this in mind, she was quick to expunge the smirk from her lips, closing the door to the terrace once Mugen was hidden.

With a sigh, she straightened herself out: combing her fingers through her hair, arranging the clothes around her body and aligning it so that no skin was uncovered. However, those seconds that it took to open the door were nerve racking. Because Mugen was on the other side of her terrace the guilt was immense; a heavy weight on her shoulder the made her anxious beyond what was reasonable. She was a little girl who had been in the cookie jar and was now faced with a mother who might at any moment notice the crumbs on her face, or the open jar behind her.

"Kali," she greeted the woman levelly, bowing her head in a polite gesture. Her voice was stable but her breath came out in short, wheezes through her nose. The secretary eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing regarding her mistress' apprehensive appearance.

"I heard that brute you associate with came to bother you last night," she began, looking around the room charily as if Mugen was hiding under some spare sheets or behind the drapes over the windows. Satisfied with the state of the room, her eyes were back on Nekomi, much to her own displeasure.

"He left after we had a word."

She did not seem to hear, and continued. "Some of the guards were injured – though none of them were killed. Maybe that good-for-nothing, worthless, son of a pig cannot even land a fatal blow on his opponents."

The door of the terrace gave an ominous creak, and while Nekomi was sure she was imagining things in this tense situation, she was sure she could make out Mugen's death threats behind the screen. The thought alone made her groan. This time, Kali did not ignore her sounds.

"Are you certain you are alright, Nekomi-sama?"

She nodded in response. "Yes, I am still feeling a little ill from yesterday," she admitted. At this, Kali's cold, heavy eyes softened. The full lids sagged at the side, the corners puckering as if she was trying to stop tears from welling up. Her eyes were completely dry however, and the vulnerable moment was tarnished by her raspy voice.

"That's reasonable. You must still be grieving for your loss." Her voice was devoid of any real sympathy or understanding. Yet, it gave Nekomi the resolve to continue – not on a fake note, but to be reminded of the pain she kept within her yesterday, before Mugen ever arrived. Pacing back, she turned her head towards where the bird was locked. It cleaned its feathers absentmindedly, ignorant of the conversation.

"Still," Kali said, her tone harsher now, "I think we should have left yesterday." The woman was writing furiously on her little scraps of paper, with her wrinkled brow hanging over her eyes like a second layer of skin. "You are endangering yourself. You should be with your husband right now. If we leave we can manage to get to Edo where you will be heavily guarded."

But Nekomi was having none of it.

"Kali, I cannot leave. You know how important this work is for me." No longer did she act weak or girlish. Her balled fists were tight and ready; the muscles in her arm taught and prepared for anything. Her chin quivered from the lips she held in a tight purse. "You know what it means if we finish this now. My... His... death, may be an _accident_. We cannot get up and leave simply because such an... _accident_ has occurred... yes, accident!"

"Three times an accident? Do you believe what you are saying to yourself after repeating it so often?" Kali was speaking out of line, but it was times like these where she had to forget the hierarchy and speak her mind – especially when Nekomi seemed to be lacking such a thing. "It will be a waste if you are murdered. Do not take 'accidents' like this so lightly."

Silence ensued with both women sizing each other up. One was old, experienced and exuded confidence – the other, meek, and frail, with a magnetic poise and aura. Kali lowered her eyes before long, and backtracked into the corridor, closing the door to her mistress' room.

"I will give you time to think about my offer to leave. Your carriage will be ready whenever you have collected yourself, madam."

Nekomi stared at the door for a long while, even after Mugen had come through into the room and stood a few feet from her. She could feel his gaze on her and had no wish to turn to face him now.

"W'ot happened?" he said with his gruff tones; distant and apathetic to the point where Nekomi thought she was talking to a stranger. Already, as she predicted he would, the conversation had turned their brief liaison stale.  
Her body gave a little tremor, and she tilted her head to the side, just so she could catch his shadow creeping along the floor. She knew she did not have to explain, but she believed that he was owed a little insight into her life. After all, the ignorant view she had tried to hard to surround him with when they were children was the reason they lost their friendship in the first place. Knowing this, it was easier for her to calm herself, preparing to share her knowledge with an old friend.

Clutching at her robe, she started.

"My cousin was killed a night or so ago." She swallowed thickly. "Kali's assistant discovered his... remains... when she went to his house yesterday morning and hurried back here to inform me."

"I didn't read 'bout it in a paper," Mugen said when she paused for a breath. He was already walking towards his clothes piled on the floor, picking them up with his feet as opposed to leaning down and tearing at his wound. Nekomi stopped him when she heard the shuffle of cloth, and motioned for him to sit back down on the bed. Timidly, she made her way to recover the reels of white fabric to redo the bandage for Mugen's wound; one hand pulling at the roll inside her draw while the other reached for some alcohol to bathe the cut.

Mugen looked uncomfortable when she kneeled in front of him, instantly pressing the wet cloth to wipe the smeared blood from his flank. He tightened subconsciously, staring down at the top to her head and tracing her arm to the little fingers working along his torso with delicate flutters and touches.

"His father's position in the government is the prison ward. They store all the files for past murders and crimes," she said, her words muffled as she spoke into the reel or cotton she already began to unravel, stretching it along his skin. Her hands were unsteady, but she pulled it round after a second attempt. "So, we decided to keep his death under wraps. The demise of his son would cause uproar, so there should be no reason for it to be mentioned anywhere. Our only fortune is that my aunt and her husband were out of town when this occurred. They will arrive tonight."

The bandage done, Nekomi lent back onto her heels, resting and apparently uninterested in the strange look she received from her companion.

"Why was Kali's assistant there anyway, Nekomi?" he asked, prompting the aristocrat to glance up at Mugen in bewilderment. She obviously had not questioned that fact herself and racked her brain for an answer.

"I... can't say." In any case, she was not too preoccupied with that notion and paused to reflect on everything that had happened to them so far.  
In spite of the cold front Mugen held, she rested a hand on his knee; cold fingers dancing on his warm flesh. He flinched, but did not draw back.

"Kali... Kali wants me to leave. She thinks I will be at risk if I remain here."

"Why'd you be in danger? If your cousin is dead for whatever reason, then shouldn't that be it?"

Nekomi bit her lip, her fingers contracting against his skin. Obviously there was more to it.

"I... I think..."

Reaching down, Mugen brushed Nekomi's hand from his knee, standing after the brief motion over the seated girl. His eyes were on the bird, who had been watching the conversation keenly. It turned a head to the side, one beady eye narrowing on the Mugen, the sight making it bob his head up and down as if trying to entrance him.

"I told j'a that you don't have to tell me 'nything," he repeated stiffly, hiding the wound with his worn shirt.  
Mugen made his way over to the terrace, deciding it was best to leave. Nekomi did not object. The feeling was mutual.

"But... Mugen..." she called to him, just before he went. There was a brief silence when Nekomi gathered what she wanted to say. Be careful? Don't hurt yourself running away from her home... I am sorry? But she knew what to say, secretly - it was just the wording she had difficulty with.

They were there, separated by everything; situation, status and simply life. The rifts they had would never be mended not matter what. Still, for a moment they were allowed that sliver of security; a night where they could return to a childhood that was filled with colour and happiness. It was their illusion – their one wish that had finally ended with the coming of day. He gave something back to her that she had lost after years of etiquette and a hopeless marriage and she was grateful for that. She could only hope that Mugen would take away a little of that child he had recovered here. Even if she never saw it again, it would be nice to know that a part of himself that he locked away would be reached by someone other than herself.

But they had too many problems. She was not right for Mugen. Perhaps they knew that they were never really meant to be, despite what their fateful meeting might dictate, and tried it out because of a mutual feeling of need or desire for each other's company... two broken souls coming together.  
The more pressing matter was that she was doing something that could only be accomplished on her own – her cousin's untimely death reminded her of that. Mugen... Mugen could never be with her when she was tangled in a web of her own lies and deceit. His safety came before her own.

She gave a smile, her eyes wet with moisture as she looked down at her hands. Neither one was looking at each other and that made saying it easier.

"... It was fun... wasn't it?"

Final. Complete. Content. That she what she sounded. She fingered the lining of her robe, and listened to the metallic resonance as Mugen's geta punched into the floor.

"Stupid girl," he told her gruffly. "I'm seeing ya tonight. Just need to check on Fuu and see if she needs 'nything."

He left after that, Nekomi refused to leave the floor.

He was delaying what eventually would come to pass. It was just like Mugen to deny the odds, even if there was nothing much to gain.

Still, she smiled. Because it was not the end.

"Nekomi-san?" someone called from the door, the woman recognising it as one of her own personal hand maids.

"Ye-yes," she squeaked, checking frightfully to the door to see whether Mugen had really left. He had.

"What is it?"

"Miss Fuu is here for you, ma'am. Should I send her up?"

"Fuu?" Nekomi repeated quickly, her eyes wide with surprise. She shook herself from her trance and nodded. "Oh of course! Send her up and make us some tea, would you?"

----

They had met on the ground floor and spoke their pleasantries in the entrance hall as was expected.

The visit was more than unanticipated, but Nekomi played dumb for their sake; giving away nothing regardless of content. The subtle sounds of agreement fell from her lips in forms of 'oh's and 'ah's and the room was stale with noises that made her seem little more than a preoccupied housewife.

She chinked the china down against the table and apologised. Fuu continued.

"So he came here last night?"

"Briefly," Nekomi said faster than was necessary. Her eyes were wider than natural, giving her a rather excitable appearance – like a child hiding a jar of cookies behind its back. The problem was that she could sense her own anxiety and did nothing to prevent her mannerisms from taking on this frantic disposition. No matter how hard she tried, her extended pinkie could not cushion the tea cup in her hands, or her eyes appear soft and docile as they normally were. Nonetheless, there was no harm in trying to help Fuu relax, despite her own worries.

The small brunette was deeply troubled and had an even harder time trying to conceal it.  
Sleep had not been on the agenda that night. Tired, bloodshot eyes were uncoordinated on Fuu; just two balls rolling in their sockets and sinking into the pockets of skin that hung along the lid. Graciousness and the once constant awareness of behaviour had been stripped in the light of her fatigue and she slumped forward whenever a cringe in her back became irritating. Numerous times she apologised, and every occasion Nekomi accepted the empty, reiterated phrases.

"You should not worry so much," Nekomi started, a hand outstretched to tap Fuu on the head. "He was drunk last night – very drunk – so I am sure that Mugen has gone somewhere to sleep off his hangover."

Fuu's eyes opened in fear.

"So what if he got hurt! What if someone decided to mug him, or, or,"

Fuu trailed away when she noticed that Nekomi was laughing at her – actually laughing like scatological humour tickled her fancy. Anger and confusion bubbled in her stomach, manifesting in tears straining in the corners of her eyes.

"What's so funny!"

"Oh Fuu, think about what you just said! Mugen does not exactly fit the stereotype of someone who has a lot of money, and not many people are willing to find out since he is equipped with a katana, ne?"

Together, they giggled, releasing their anxieties as they pictured the scene in their mind. As expected however, Fuu was the first to turn solemn.

"He also has a wound you know," she said half way through a laugh.

"I changed the bandaging before he left, so he should be alright."

The comment was meant to ease her mind and it did the very opposite. Fuu mouthed an 'o' of appreciation, and stared down at the tray of tea and biscuits, unsure how to progress. Of course she had changed the bandages – of course Nekomi had been able to handle it (better than she could have). Of course Mugen thought she was more apt at everything she could do for him. The constant stream of self-conscious thoughts sent Fuu spiralling into depression, and without realising, her tears (thick with regret and angst) fell hard against the china and food tray as she remembered Mugen's voice that day at the pier – his anger, his hatred.

Nekomi watched this in silence. She could not empathise with her sadness because her stomach was racked with guilt, her ability to cry inhibited by a probing conscience which told her she was the cause for her misery. And it was true. The idea of Fuu and Mugen was not something that was alien to her – in fact, the first night she saw them (the way Fuu sat by Mugen's side the entire night, how she lectured the maids on how to treat him in-between silent tears) was enough for Nekomi to recognise that Fuu was hopelessly in love with Mugen. Her love stretched far beyond the limits of friendship. Nonetheless, from the way Fuu was acting, it was a wonder if she knew herself of her true feelings.

"Fuu..." The girl in question looked up and wiped her tears hastily. "If you are worried about Mugen that much you should tell him."

"Worried?" she responded in mock surprise, before spitting out a laugh, "I-I'm not worried about that idiot! He's so stupid I don't care if he ever comes back!" There was a pause for more tears. "Besides, I told him that day – you were there, and he – he just doesn't – i don't know – he just hates me!"

Nekomi patted her on the back, smiling with a type of understanding that only comes with tragic experience.

"You know that's not true-"

"BUT! You saw him, you heard what he said!"

"With men like Mugen, you have to understand that all they have if force, anger, brutality and misconduct. How do you expect someone who is limited to these emotions convey something like appreciation or..." Nekomi swallowed hard, "Love?"

Fuu seemed ready to argue, but with Mugen and Love mentioned in a sentence, she was forced to look down out of embarrassment. She mumbled meekly into her chest, "He doesn't love me."

"You love him, don't you?"

"No... No, why would I love him? I have a guy here you know – see? I am attractive – and I can be really happy with, er... him."

"Fuu, it's alright. I've always known that there was no 'mystery man' here."

Staring up, the little girl went rigid with fear as if Nekomi was some sort of psychic with the ability to stare into the deepest recesses of her soul. Her bloodshot eyes scanned her for any trace of such energy or power, only met with a woman's forlorn expression, mapped with guilt and marred by fatigue. Nonetheless, the smile never wavered – that old, crooked smile.

Nekomi reached out and touched her hands, holding them in hers.

"Tell him," she whispered. "Tell him."

Fuu slept through the morning, missing lunch and an early tea to greet the coming evening. A contented grin was plastered on her mug as her thoughts turned to what she and Nekomi had discussed. She would tell him and rid herself of that desperate longing to break the Virgil of her heart.  
On the sidelines, Nekomi watched the afternoon progressed, allowing Fuu the comforts of sleep for her big evening. She had been crying in between meals, muffling her sobs with the folds of her kimono and wandering onto the terrace whenever the urge took her. Again, the tears came, but this time she had the resolve to say no.

"I'm being selfish," she told herself, knowing it was about time to send Fuu to find Mugen. She had her time – she had Mugen and she was grateful for the years that her father worked on the island so that she came to know one little vagabond. But those days were over. With all this commotion it was almost an indicator that things should draw to a halt. She had too much to do – a freedom to win. Mugen would only interrupt that. With the knowledge that someone was killing off her family, it was certain that someone had been hired to assassinate all those involved with the illegal docking of foreign ships. It was time for her to leave before she became the next target.

As for Fuu, she needed Mugen more than Mugen would ever need her (Nekomi) and in due course, he would come to terms with that. With her resolve fortified, she returned to her duties and woke Fuu.  
It wasn't long before she was prepared to leave, unsure, but fuelled by the possibility that she would cast away her fears and tell Mugen why he couldn't get hurt – why he couldn't leave and that there was no guy waiting for her in Satsuma.  
She was in such a rush to leave that she left one of the pink pins for her hair lying on the cushion though it was only noticeable once Nekomi had walked her to the door, wished her well and returned to her own quarters to where she was greeted by the object.  
Reaching down, she held it in her hands, twirling it so it caught to orange sunlight that came through the open terrace windows. Thinking about what happened last night, her eyes swelled with emotion. She held a hand over her eyes as if it would stop her from crying though it did no such thing.

"What have I done?" she whispered.

"Heh, I didn't think I was that bad, Nekomi," a gruff voice called from behind her.

Despite it all, Nekomi was torn between a broad smile and the tears that continued to fall. She could picture Mugen perched outside on her terrace, grinning boldly at her with his wild hair spiking up into the sky. Just as time would have it, Fuu was probably half way to the inn where she was sure she would find him, when in actual fact he was here.

"Oh Mugen," she sighed, "_You are such an idiot_."

**N O T E S** : SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! and sorry the end of this chapter is a bit rushed.

I plan on making the next chapter long, as well as one of those 'plot moving sections'.

ENJOY!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**T I T L** **E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R** : Chapter Sixteen - Admittance  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S **: MuuxNek MuuxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : In the end, he will always love her.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

The breeze was cool and impartial, carrying the scent of Satsuma port into the room.  
Nekomi continued to stare at the door, ignoring the pressing notion of Mugen perched outside the terrace and the rattled pulse within her chest. Her heart was heavy, torn, but mental fortification would have to endure through this trialling situation. Breathing in, she closed her eyes and listened to squabbling maids downstairs before their voices were drowned out by Mugen's geta scuffing the floor.

"Nekomi-sama?" Mugen said in a high-pitched whine, imitating the voice of her servants who addressed her as royalty. Nekomi imagined correctly that the title was accompanied by a silly grin while he moved his body like a slinking-snake to complete the presentation of a lowly follower. Behind her, the thud against the futon was apparent as well as the long sigh that came from her guest. With him in place, Nekomi realised her time was up and turned to walk to him, head bowed and fingers entwined around the embroidery of her kimono. Indirectly, she stared at him, managing to pinpoint a location next to Mugen. His eyes were on her and though she could not see, as she sat down and watched the floor beneath her feet, she could feel them burning into the side of her face, questioningly.  
Nonetheless, Mugen had patience – to her surprise – and as he breathed against her shoulder while clumsily prodding her arm with his elbow like some bored infant, he waited for her to speak.

"Have you seen Fuu?" she inquired with the full knowledge that he had not.

Running his fingers through his hair, Mugen glanced up and the ceiling and let his lower-lip fall pensively.  
"Nah. The bitch has probably run off somewhere." While he was meant to be spiteful, his monotone voice expressed his concern. Trying to appear apathetic was not the boy's forte and the odd roll of his shoulders and heaven-set gaze was anything but indifferent to Nekomi. She listened keenly, looking up at him while he was distracted.  
"Went to the inn and she was not there. I figured she was probably down at the docks, so i thought, whatever, might as well." He paused and grunted. "I'm not worried or anythin' like 'dat, since its Fuu, but I stopped by the theatre to see if she had buggered off there, checked a few brothels to see in case the bitch had fucked up again and gott'n involved in some badass business... no sign of her." Beside the couple, the shutters gave a warning howl, the breeze becoming harsh, a sign of a coming storm.  
"But," Mugen consolidated himself with a sigh, "I suppose she finally met up with whateverthefuckhisname is – finally – and got the fuck out! Not that I give two shits or anything."

Turning his face, he drew back, finding that Nekomi was staring peculiarly at him, with tears brimming from her eyes and a forlorn smile broad across her face. His wary gaze never left hers as she leant in towards him, pressing her lips against his before moving down to tend to his neck, disguising her falling tears with butterfly kisses.  
His jaw tightening, his eyes soft, he breathed out quietly,

"What's wrong, you silly woman?"

* * *

Fuu trudged lazily through the streets, dragging her shoes through the dirt, not bothering to survey the scene. She had long lost her curiosity, lending boredom and depression to settle in its wake as the certainty of Mugen's disappearance became fact to her. The night time escapades of Satsuma were enveloping her in crowds of blossoming teens and filthy drunkards and without Mugen roosted beside her like some watchful guardian, the decadence and dirt of the town was more apparent to her; her senses prone to the flaws and imperfections that innocence had forced her to overlook. The vagrant offered her that type of ability, one that allowed her this piece of mind. On her own, experience dealt the card of caution and much to her surprise it had overtaken her naivety.  
Her small hands clamped the opening of her kimono together as she fought through this whistles and offbeat comments thrown her way. She was tempted to return to the inn – to Nekomi's if she could, but she was old enough now to deal with the hardships, or so she thought. Even though she had been with Mugen for a few short days, her independence was returning though with this creeping disappointment in her for him leaving so abruptly, she was able to lure herself closer to the first tavern that they had visited, away from Nekomi who could probably ease her conscience.

"Kali-san, you called for me?" the plump maid said, her voice directed to the floor as she bowed. The older woman pressed her with a tap, urging her to stand up to relay her information.  
"I know you've had a tough time, going to Nekomi-sama cousin's home to find him dead and what not," Kali stated without interest, "but I am sure that you were able to acquire the documents. My directions were right, were they not? In the first cupboard,"  
"of the Master's bedroom at the back?" she interrupted, not out of rudeness but to assure herself that memory continued to serve.  
There was a nod, and the maid turned to the desk to retrieve the papers before handing them to the governess. They were snatched without thanks and rummaged through furiously by the older woman, whose fat-lidded eyes scanned each word and letter with brazen precision.  
"I overhead that if Nekomi ever wanted to learn of her father's death that those papers were in his private draws. While her cousin would have given them if I had asked, the circumstances were ill-fated towards him."

"But, Kali-san," the maid piped, "what will finding the papers prove?"

"That I was right in assuming that, that riffraff is not to be trusted."

"Yo-you think _he_ is the person to kill the _general_?" The shock was enough to draw Kail's eyes from the paper, if only briefly to consider what she was proposing. The general was a great fighter, even in his later years and to suppose that Mugen was the killer and that he had escaped execution was in theory giving him too much credit. However, experience was on Kali's side and with her knowledge and knack for gut-instinct, there was no reason why these papers should not prove useful.

Papers fell in a shower around her feet, pooling around her ankles.

"That boy has Satsuma tattoos on his wrists – the ones given to people on death row. His familiarity with Nekomi-sama I can only assume is from her days as an infant on the convict island, and from that we can assume that he has escaped from the island and consequently, escaped death. While Nekomi may not have wanted to know who her killer was I am not so naive as to let information of this magnitude go by, especially when it has been said that only one person was captured on the night of the sugar-raid."

"And you think that one person is him? Wouldn't it be reported if someone as dangerous as him escaped?"

"It was."

"I never heard anything of it!" she exclaimed as if her status assured that she should have been in the loop.

Kali spoke faster now, her fingers flying across the parchment,

"I was told. Nekomi refused to hear anything on the matter – he was presumed dead by jumping from the cliff, however, if there was any person, any scum who was capable of inflicting this damage, _he_ would be..."  
Kali trailed away as one paper caught her attention, the bold inscription of 'private' enticing her like some forbidden fruit. Her eyes grew squint from reading and leaked as they were forced open without time to blink.  
Nevertheless, as she finished, Kali seemed to have grown bored with herself. She drew back and stifled a cough, handing the paper to the maid as if it was any other piece of unwanted scrap.

"What does it say, Miss Kali?" the maid said, growing tired of the rhetoric before a minute had passed.

"It says," she whispered darkly, "that we are right."

"Wh-what should we do?"

Her beady eyes were turned towards the dim candle which flickered in the howling wind.

"Alert Nekomi-sama at once."

* * *

Mugen threw a hand up in contempt.

"Fuckin' hell Nekomi, you made me worry for a minute! Why you whining about Fuu? She came to your place right? So there's no need for me to panic bout nothin'!"

Still, despite his comments, Nekomi refused to quieten down.

"Mugen _please, just listen, _for a moment," she said lethargically, trying to gather her thoughts. Holding a hand to her head she questioned how things could unravel at such inopportune moments, how in a few days she had found the boy that had become a vagrant, who had become the lover of an adulteress, who had _forever _been her closest friend. And Fuu – fate was dealing them a hand of inconvenience. If this was their plan, Nekomi had no right in feeling even a sliver of disdain towards her because it is destiny's choice to keep them together. Rather, their meeting was as miraculous as one's very existence in so precise a form, a gift she would treasure. Now, she had to remedy what had become undone, for while she was tied to her beliefs and respects for the hands the gods played, Mugen was another matter entirety. It was convincing that would be the issue; convincing herself, that she could push him away.

"Mugen, you _need _to find, Fuu," she told him firmly. "You need to get her and leave and protect her."

Shaking a head, a snarl pulled at his lips.

"What the hell are you on about, girl? I _told you, _Fuu already has someone to look after her – and it's not me!" Bitterness dripped from his words, and he wondered in passing, who _was _this mystery man? Who was important enough to Fuu, to have her leave her village in pursuit? The question tugged at his stomach, and heat pooled in the pit of his gut, welling uncomfortably. It simmered when he heard her laughing, when Nekomi's face met his, bright eyed and red from her crying. Like that, he pictured Fuu, he envisioned young Nekomi. In his mind the two were becoming intrinsic, and the notion was ominous.

"You _believe _that? Honesty?" Rolling her head back onto her shoulders, she wiped the streaks of tears indignantly from her face. "You are not stupid, you know Fuu has no one here."

The comment was meant to sting, Mugen thought. For such a 'gravid' realisation, he should have been more shocked. And yet, as the seconds ticked and he waited for that pain and grief to sink into his skull from this new found knowledge – there was nothing. Rather, he felt mild relief picking at his flesh, a lulling comfort in the idea that Fuu really, was alone. It was a vindictive thought, selfish, and entirely like him to wish for her to be defenceless, without a protector. Inhaling deeply, he gave a hard, side long glance, finding that Nekomi was meeting his gaze with a similar look. A chuckle rose from her lips and he thought of their island days.

"I love you," she said, and Mugen watched her as the words fell from her lips in a careful tempo. He laughed inwardly. In these moments – the moments Fuu had told them about on their journeys – there was meant to be a pause, an instant where the world paused, the bees hummed and nature bowed down to the admittance. Nekomi was already speaking before a full-stop could end what was now, only a passing comment. "But you know what this means, don't you. If there is no man for Fuu to see, you know why she travelled with you, why she stays when you insult her, why she cries when she thinks you are asleep (and I know you are always awake Mugen; you don't sleep well) why she doesn't mind getting into trouble?" Mugen was already up and moving by the time Nekomi was half way through her list, his mind reeling with memories and with thoughts he never really paid attention to. Nekomi foresaw this and continued, staring at the red-back of his shirt.

"It's because you are there with her, Mugen. She loves you. She _loves you_."

Without turning, the vagrant could tell she was crying again. Like when she was a little girl, tears would drench her cheeks with unsightly streaks; make her nose swell crimson, her eyes puffy and distant behind her wet lashes. He twisted his head slightly, staring at the floor, listening to the bird who sing-songed a sad melody in its cage. _Nekomi, (she's small, delicate, the world is going to break around her.)_

"You," he breathed, "You said you loved me, didn't you?"

Nekomi blinked back at him.

"I love you," she repeated. "Always have, always will."

* * *

"_I love you."_

The words were unmistakeable. They were the three words Fuu had uttered to herself when Mugen was snoring beside her and Jin was dreaming of combat. She practiced, practiced, and practiced because she told herself, _one day, _she would tell him – Mugen, that stupid, damn, _idiot_ – that she had loved him for a long time now. Nekomi got to her first, but it seemed that she had been there long before she had even existed to Mugen. Fuu stifled her silent tears with a hand over her mouth, the floor giving soft moans from her body which shook and trembled. Always have? From the crack of the door, she could see Nekomi's face clearly (and she thought, they must look so similar, red and puffy and tired) but she was older, and more beautiful. She was someone that Mugen would go for because he is handsome, he is _perfection. _The words she said reeled in her mind like a broken song; an unforgettable chorus which sticks at the back of your throat and taunts you for the rest of the day. Now, it seemed so clear to her that she leant against the back wall with a cooing breath, raking the skin of her face with her nails as if to dig out her incompetence. She heard their voices in her head in a whorl of disappointment and she clutched at her ears to stop her from hearing them. They pounded away, louder than before.

("A little boy, a _precious_ boy", "She smelt of cherry-blossoms", "You still like cherry-blossoms, don't you Mugen?", "Nekomi has a lot on her mind, Fuu", "You love him, don't you, Fuu", "Fuu", "Fuu!")

The looks became apparent, the times he talked in his sleep, the way they looked at each other over the table when they thought she was too busy eating to notice. They knew each other but she had been so blinding by their different ranks that she put it down as an infatuation that would never pull through – just like all those other women, Mugen had been with. She still didn't know the details: how they met, where, when, why, but she couldn't begin to ponder on them when her heart rattled away in her chest and her legs trembled at the very notion of being so close to Mugen at a time like this. She saw the hair pin she left on the table next to Nekomi, glinting maliciously at her from where she sat in a crumpled heap. Fuu had come back to retrieve it when Mugen was nowhere to be found and the inn looked uninviting. She regretted the decision immensely. A sigh hitched in her chest as the floor groaned and Mugen stepped into the segment of the room she could see. A worn hand motioned towards Nekomi's face, holding the jaw in a way that told her he was curious more than anything. He said something, in a dark, bestial sound which she presumed was his interpretation of her name. Picking herself up, Fuu hurried down the corridor from whence she came, her conscience sparking her into movement when it considered how Mugen would reply – how this entire night would unravel. Secretly, she knew she wouldn't survive a response from Mugen – nor could she endure the time waiting for him to say it. Side stepping out the door, she manoeuvred past Kali and her handmaid who were positioned by the steps next to the exit. They were too busy whispering to even notice she had come and gone.

* * *

"I love you, but," Nekomi began, shaking her head, a hand coming up to feel the hand that rested alongside her face. "I can't take what isn't mine anymore."

Mugen nodded, a grimace forming on his lips.

"I know."

"You have to find her."

"I know."

"And tell her –"

"That I'm sorry."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**T I T L** **E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R** : Chapter Seventeen - Hopeless  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S **: MuuxNek MuuxFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : Despair is a cruel pestilence.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

Satsuma bustles with noise and candlelight. People are strung against the pavement in mismatch colours that beam against the glow of restaurants and brothels. The town is brimming with life that borders on chaos, yet it filters into a drone around Fuu. Through her tears, Satsuma is blanching and the sound of laughter is noxious. She trudges past them, listless as she replays her memories in a blur of forgetfulness --- even now, she cannot remember if Mugen said those three words. The conflict continues as she hears Nekomi's quiet voice (_I love you, always have_) and a pang of remorse sweeps over her in sickly waves. She thinks of the cold, she thinks of rain, bitter fruits, broken melodies, winter seas. Sometimes, she can't remember what warmth means. The sky rumbles above and the townsmen (_the whores, the players, the pimps_) carry on unperturbed. Fuu joins them, noting solemnly that rain is coming: more cold, more anguish. Turning the corner, she knows where she is --- outside the main road where they once stormed through on their search for food. The remembrance is a dull ache and she feels her body slow to the mimetic pulse of a few, lumbering steps. Pulling herself through a doorway, a tall, waving, hulk-of a man reminds her that she has been here before. The tavern that she and Mugen had first come to is as dire as ever. The rows of shady customers are indistinct; a wall of black with pinches of white skin. They don't look up as she walks and takes a seat. In the dim light, the pink of a kimono is as unexciting as her expression, and the bar man notes that immediately.

"Hey, yer missy, where's yer friend?" he asks kind-heartedly. His eyes are wrinkled behind pockets of skin.

Fuu answers in a mumble of 'he's, that, Mugen, gone' that in the end, she fails to do anything but spit out broken syllables. He smiles knowingly and leaves to collect a small portion of warm _sake_ for the girl. She accepts it without thanks; downs it in a shot and hisses back the sting as it rolls down her throat. It's artificial warmth, but right now, she's not above such comfort. In seconds her cheeks are flushed and hot tears streak down her face. Fuu doesn't sob; doesn't shake --- she's silent, and really, she's too tired to realise that she's crying again. Wordlessly, she pulls out a few coins from her chest pocket, fumbling to push them towards the bar man. The buzz is growing mute, she wants another hit and the man is not one to judge. Two shots later, she manages to find her voice.

"He's gone," she grumbles, slouching over one thin arm. She twirls the empty cup with her hand, listening to it scraping along the woodwork. "He's gone."

"You don't sound 'hat upset about it," he tells her, and while her face is red and swollen, her eyes have hardened; dried and hollow as she watches the light scatter off the glass. She blinks back the surprise from the question, the shock fading from her features. With a shrug, she shreds her discomfort.

"I-I don't know anymore."

The next hit he gives her is free.

"He's just, an idiot. A _damn _idiot ---" Deftly, she tugs as the sleeves of her kimono and her stomach churns uncomfortably against the alcohol. "Mugen --- he should have just said something; Nekomi," By the time she thinks of the older woman she pictures her warm smile, the one she wears when Fuu is dejected, distressed and illogical. Then, _that_ image creeps back into her mindset_: I love you._

"It doesn't matter," Fuu tells herself, her hand reaching for the empty cup. Already the room is swirling in hues. She's older now, and the tears are empty bags of anguish. It's been too long since _they _were there to rescue her and now more than ever, she needs to prove her self-reliance. Mugen has travelled with her and finally, reveals his true colours; and they contain every shade but hers. She touches on the fact that someone is watching her. To the side, a hooded figure is lurched over the counter, talking briskly to the bartender. He is sweating, anxious and his beady eyes are wide from surprise. There is a flash of movement and it is too quick for Fuu to follow --- but before she can comprehend sensibility, she pounds a fist against the table top.

"Bartender, another drink!" she tells him, pushing out a coin. Looking up, he dawdles, and tends to the hooded figure for another moment before he ventures for more sake. Solemnly, he returns, shaking his head at the coin she waves in front of him.

"It is on the house, from that lady." He gestures to the hooded woman, and finally, something clicks in her head.

She chugs down the sake, relishing the heat.

"Her," she splutters with a grin, "She's the one 'oo donated the tickets!" Under the shadow of her hood she can determine her pasty skin and rouged lips. Fuu smiles back dumbly at her, and soon, her stomach gives a jolt, and her eye lids grow heavy. "What's in there," she whispers. The thud on the table is only briefly noted by the guests. They watch as the bartender mumble and excuse and carries Fuu into the back of the tavern, the cloaked woman on his heels.

**N O T E S ** : HEY EVERYONE! Sorry for the late updates, but you know how it is. I am thinking  
that smaller chapters might be safer so I don't keep you all waiting forever. Well, obviously Fuu  
had to get herself in trouble! Nonetheless, I hope you guys don't think I've made her too 'grownup'  
and uncaring. Duh -- course she is upset, but I think that after all the crap she has been through  
that Mugen really doesn't deserve her pity. (: Until next time!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R **: Chapter Eighteen - One Mistress, No Master  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : They rolled down the hill, faster and faster. The sun raced through the clouds.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

There is blood. There is blood and pain and agony. In her world she has endured them in folded surprises and deathly revelations. They always come in threes. When she is ten, her mother dies. It is quick, they tell her, but she watched for years as illness ravished her body, as she dabbed the blood which trickled from her lips with the corner of a handkerchief. She'd always smile; tell her_ she'll be fine. _

At sixteen they say she's to be married. The boy is fat, uninteresting and spoilt. He's allergic to the Sakura she has in the gardens. She plants four more in time for his next visit. Her father is pronounced dead during Tanabata. They tell her as she is weaving a scarf for him; tell her that she is to leave to marry her fiancée the following week. She only cries when she finishes and places it on his empty bed, _a welcome home gift_.

The wedding is beautiful and the presents, majestic. She drinks the sake until the world spins in lackadaisical monochrome. Music is a blur, and her cousin dances the piece she was forbidden to perform. When she slaps him, the curtains are drawn and her handmaids give a sermon of gasps. Kissing the vibrant hand mark, she leaves without her husband.

Kali tells her that the man who killed their father has been executed. Its four months after his death and she doesn't care enough to know his name. It's useless --- he won't come back regardless. She moves to Satsuma when her husband becomes lazy and doesn't want to hide his various mistresses and whores. It's the first blessing she has received in years. In the house of her fathers' she is free to venture, she is _free _to sit in her gilded cage and sing sad songs. People are kind to her here; they say she looks more like a mother every day. They don't tell her she is getting old; that her eyes are sore and colourless.

She learns about trading from a foreigner that docks in their port by accident. _On the way to Edo, _he told her: _only place we're allowed. _When she asks him to stay and reload, he tells her of the goods they are selling; their value, their price and their popularity. The morning he leaves she meets him in his cabin. He steals a kiss. It's inappropriate, _wrong _and somehow, meaningful. Before he goes, she says _they can make a deal_.

Nekomi stares at the papers flailed about her feet. Some are torn, some are crimpled, and some of the papers are scoured with red ink and messy text. She can barely see it. Her heart is fit to burst and her fingers scramble for the ink pot. It tips, shatters, and spills over the floorboards in one puddle. The bird is frantic in its cage and she thinks that it understands her pain. Everything is blood and pain and agony.

"Kali, _no!_" The cry comes in a bellow from deep within her chest. Her assistant is stoic in a winding room. Small eyes are hidden beneath her veil of dark hair, but she knows she is staring hard at the paper in Nekomi's hand. Darkness creeps along the valleys of her face, the subtle lines that are growing deep with her age. Everything is surreal and she is reminded of her wedding; how drunk, how _blissful _it was. What this was, was the hangover, the sick that is mounting more and more and _more _until it spirals out of control. She didn't want to know, she _told _Kali, years ago, that this was to be dead and buried with _his _death. Now, the evidence is incontrovertible. It's in her hands and the name is bold, the painting, descriptive. _Mugen --- _

"Mugen..."

"He is without a doubt, your father's killer."

"You shouldn't---you shouldn't have _told me!_" she continues, shaking her head, leaning against the wall. "I specifically said---" The argument dies on her tongue, weighing heavily on her gullet. She hides her face in her cold palms and feels sweat licking along the corners of her hair line. All she can see is Mugen's face; feel his breath along her neck, his skeletal fingers as they pull, rip, tear, hold, _cherish_. It's been so long now that she only has vague recollections of her father. She remembers him older, with threads of grey curling beside his ears, war-wounds now soft with age --- _what did he smell of_, she wonders. She stifles a heavy sigh and purses her lips.

"And, my cousin --- does that mean..."

Kali nods.

"Most likely --- Mugen is probably the vagrant hit-man who is killing off members of the family linked to this illegal trade. This is the Shogun's doing for sure."

"But---but he had nothing to do with it!" Nekomi wheezes, raising her head, pulling her fraying hair. Kali is moving too quickly for her, and yet, she knows she is standing still. "I want a drink," she murmurs, the request going unanswered.

"He doesn't know that --- the government probably don't even know, so for your safety, I suggest we leave immediately."

"I---I can't just leave." (_she remembers everything; I love you Mugen; Fuu's bright smile, the light in his eyes as he stares at her._)

The elder woman snaps and hisses menacingly.

"Nekomi! Don't be _stupid_," she admonishes, for the first time betraying her age in her raspy voice. "Think of all the work you have put into this, all the money you have earned from _your hard work_!" The young woman is staring inertly at her, her eyes dry. "You told me once," she continues on the same piercing note, "that you wanted to be free --- the reason that you took such a risqué path was because _freedom _was more important to you than this caged life." Coming over to her, she rests a cold hand on her shoulder. It is heavy and Nekomi studies the veins that bump along her loose skin. But, it's warm and comforting, and Nekomi feels something of herself limp back into her mind. Bruised and battered, it is still _something_.

"Please, _please _don't leave everything you have worked for, behind."

Clearing her throat with a cough, she looks away from her assistant.

"Get me a drink, Kali."

"_Miss—"_

"We will go as soon as you are able to prepare a safe route to us. I---I just need sake, and, _and_ time."

(_Mugen pushes her down the hill and they roll down together, faster and faster and faster. When they reach the meadow, she thinks they are still spinning. He tells her, it is okay and they lie together in euphoria where everything is out of control and his hand on her's is the only power she has.)_

Nekomi locks the door and cries hard into a pillow.

_Everything is out of control. Mugen, I need you to hold my hand._

**N O T E S : **Hello again! Yes, wow --- two chapter updates! XD I know, I am so hardcore (jokes!)  
Here is the harridan herself. To be honest, I was kinda _choo are such a betch _at the beginning because  
really, she has not been all that truthful, but as I wrote this I reconnected with the sympathy I had with her  
when I first thought of her character. She's fucked up a lot of things; but I don't think for a second that  
she would have the gall to think that she and Mugen were ever meant to be together. I think she knows they  
had their time. Yes, and this has very little to do with this current chapter, but yeah, it got me thinking about  
it. XD

Coming up --- Mugen. (:


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Nineteen – Thickening  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : Chaos is bad branding.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

Mugen dawdled. A few times he paused, looked over his shoulder and continued; as if there were an imaginary figure ghosting his path. Now he was content to weave through the sea of people, mending an invisible path through their linked arms and held hands. The closer he got to the inn, the more hesitant he became. He might as well have been walking backwards. _Satsuma hadn't changed much_, he thought: the roads were just as crooked with their potholes and rocks, the women just as painted, the men as obtuse with their bright gowns, happy smiles, and clean nail beds. When he escaped his execution he washed up on the shore by the docks, ran to that little place he had taken Fuu and shovelled down as much food as possible. He was wild then --- so much so that everything was a blur of strength and resolve; blood splatters and lines of entrails. Smiling dimly, it was a sad grimace of defeat: his memory was scattered, like feathers thrown to the wind. He fancied that the fragments of what happened crawled into the gashes of those he cut down, slid into the sand prints of his geta to be washed by frothy waves. The past was to be left in the past and yet, Nekomi manifested as this binding obstacle, a can tied to the tail of a cat. His history dogged his steps, churning out the metallic sound of repression as the luggage he carried fumbled behind him. Fuu was always lunging two paces ahead of him it seemed. He could picture her flying ponytail, fluttering chopsticks, and flitting kimono as she pranced inelegantly on the road paved out before them; stumbling on her heels, skidding over the hem of her clothing. When he came to, the street was crowded with strangers and a carriage overtook him. But in the heat of chatter, yelling, laughter, screams, he was sure he could distinguish the trampling of her footsteps, the whining timbre of her voice. The lids of his eyes fell softly, lips pursed in a line of concentration. Nekomi was only a recollection, a reality that was paralleled to the present; reverse, awkward and at ends with existence. She was a collage of memories, of muted laughter and a smile that sifted into his mind with ominous precision and fatal nostalgia. A wraith --- an artificial entity: Nekomi reminded Mugen of the stories; someone from a past life that has made contact with the present. Behind him, the beep of another people-carrier parted the pavement, and Mugen was rushed by the public who swept disjointedly from their paths. _Not long now, _he noted with a solemn facade, turning the corner to where he knew the inn was located.

Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. As if the street had been carved by an invisible fissure, the heart of the town seemed oblivious to the dark alleyway, to the broken fence that lay in splinters on a dirt road. He rushed to the entrance, his heart thrumming in alarm, one hand already posed on the handle of his katana. Subconsciously, he knew no one was here --- the scent of chaos had evaporated, and all that remained was the stench of an aftermath; blood, destruction and its deathly calm. As if a veil had been cast over the scene, the images of broken bodies mapping the way to the entrance appeared pale; as if the colour had drained into monochrome. Even the blood that pooled in thick, oily spills looked like black rain puddles. They were dead, Mugen didn't have to check. He raced through the broken doors of the entrance, bypassing ripped doors and silent corpses, the arms which lay feet away from incomplete bodies, peeking from the open gashes of the paper walls. His room was devastated, the money that Fuu hid in the small hole of her pillow shredded by knives. In the dark room, the vibrant, pink dango which she carried with her regardless of the circumstance was a flare against the grey walls. Beneath it, was a note --- short, concise, written in a feminine hand. He raced to the draws to read it, finding that despite his crash-course education, was a jumble of curling calligraphy that he couldn't decipher. It took him minutes for him to settle into the pace of reading, and longer to stop his hands from trembling in a mix of rage and anxiety. The paper was torn and crimpled under the skin of his thumbs by the time he finished.

_Mr Mugen,_

__

Apologises from the rude appearance, however, you are overdue with your task. Since you have been unable to complete what was agreed in Edo, we have taken the liberty of taking your travelling companion to help you grasp the gravity of what you have done by delaying. So the clichés of 'if you want to see her alive' are exempted from his notice, enclosed below is where we would like you to meet us. Please be prompt ---

_Toku (shield) Warehouse._

Mugen breathed out a hiss of relief --- the warehouse was part of the sight-seeing that Nekomi mentioned on their trips to the docks that day and it was only by luck's tragic humour that he recalled its location. Ignoring a clatter of sound from the outside, he hurried to read the few words scrawled at the bottom.

_PS: for your benefit, we suggest you hurry quickly --- the Satsuma guard – as you are well aware – might find an ex-prisoner's appearance at a massacre, __**unsettling**__._

"What?" Mugen spat with disdain, finding that life was prepared to manage his confusion in a matter of seconds. Outside, the rattle of organised troops materialized into a sound of shocked gasps and angry outbursts. Mugen scrunched up the paper in his fist and motivated himself to let go of his katana. There were too many to deal with without risking imprisonment --- risking Fuu's life. Gritting his teeth, he weighed the lacquer dango in his hand, the little skulls that dangled listlessly against his wrist before sprinting from their terrace entrance along the back wall. Regardless, the police knew who they were looking for; the Shogunate no doubt, having given them a description of the criminal. The setup was lacking in its originality, but it was enough to slap a death warrant on his head. Cheating death for a second time with the Satsuma guard was an ace in the hole he did not posses. As the vagrant stomped back into the safety of a few wandering drunks and geishas, Nekomi came to mind. With her status there was no doubt that she could clear up these matters. _No_, he thought dismally, envisioning Fuu in his mind's eye. _She needs me now. _As he pondered, Mugen tumbled headfirst into a cloaked figure, finding that unlike the others, it did not fall to the pavement. Aggravated, he shouted a curse and blindly continued running. _Fucking prick_.

"Well, well, that's interesting," the hooded man muttered, watching as the bounding youth headed for the seashore, a pink dango held tightly in his gorilla palms.  
Waiting patiently by the road, his discreetness was rewarded when a few off-duty guards ambled down the same path, green in the face and painted with beads of sweat. One had his arm round his stomach, preparing to hurl. The other, continued on with his description, oblivious to his associate's disagreeing gut.

"Wow, that guy really did a number in there --- those heads; all that blood; and that was a classy place as well --- was gonna take the wife there for a break! All this stuff happening --- all to Nekomi-sama's things: her cousin, and now this! Pity; she's such a nice woman --- don't know her myself, but she's done wonders for this town economically. Ugh, did you see the woman whose intestines were spilling every--- ah come'on! My _fucking _shoe's, did you _have to_ on my _shoes_?!"

Pulling back the hood of his cloak, the man rubbed his angular chin.

_Interesting,_ he concluded with the knowledge that this was all the superficial truth that the police had bleakly proposed in order to have a thesis to go by. Already he knew that the solution to uncovering the reality of this blood-bath was by following the man responsible. His lips tightened into a look of disappointment.

"Finding that impertinent brat is going to take some time. Better start at the shoreline."

**N O T E S ** : Another chapter -- the last of the short ones, I feel.  
Since I wont have too much free time, I wanted to upload these POV chapters as quickly as possible  
before I go into the 'actual' storyline once again.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty – The Beautiful Cherry-blossom  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : That girl doesn't want to be saved...  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

Toku Warehouse was desolate beside the coastline. The fire-torches were battered by the humid sea breeze and lined the path to the entrance. It was dark, but the moon was high and Mugen could see two guards scatter inside to alert the others of his arrival. He walked slowly towards them, feeling his resilience give way to a mild twinge of anxiety. Thinking of Fuu, he remembered her chained to the cross on that island; the blood that dried on her cheeks and blotted her lips with angry red. The possibility of her being hurt rekindled that strange sense of purpose, followed by the bitter aftertaste of responsibility. There was no adrenaline rush; no desire to cut because loss finally mattered – whether he won today counted because it was no longer just his life on the line. It was _hers_ too. Along the shore, the dirt road filtered into gritty sand. It was still wet from high tide and Mugen's geta stuck fast to the grime. Clapping against the wooden boards, they fell silent to the rustic moan of the hinges as the vagrant slid open the door and watched the many figures manifest under the light, curling around his shadow, and the wind which stirred the dust. Glinting back at him, the drawn katanas were like pieces of ivory embroidered with fine jewels. Most of the guards were shuffling uncertainly and yet, Mugen did little to acknowledge them. His eyes grazed the many heads, searching.

"She's not here," someone called from the back. Mugen recognised the voice immediately as the man who had captured him in Edo all those weeks ago. The same hoarse croak bubbled in his pit and toyed with his temper. He saw the opaque outline of the man as he settled himself into a high back chair, followed by a lit torch that was carried by a woman – no doubt his _personal_ assistant. With a wave of his bejewelled hand, the troops parted in unison, sheathing their swords in a gentle rush of metal that drowned out Mugen's steps. The closer he got to the pair, the deeper the wrinkles became on his face, the thin line of disappointment hiding the pink of his lips entirely. Despite the woman's attempts to lower her gaze, her features were recognisable – the hooker he picked up in Edo was more than just a pawn to capture him, also being the one who slipped him the tickets to the theatre the night of his arrival in the tavern. Even now, the lackadaisical cloak she adored still covered her lean figure, the hood curled beside her stringy neck.

"Mugen?" The man's prominent voice pulled him from his thoughts. His crooked, yellowing teeth were bared behind the stretch of his wide mouth. While not unattractive, age had sagged his high cheeks and hooded his sallow eyes with pockets of fat. Nonetheless, he was in remarkable shape: not even his loose attire could disguise it. The muscles along his short arms were intimidating obvious. A general that had discovered the benefits of management, he guessed – no doubt he was dealing with an individual with combat experience, if not expertise. A flippant wave of his hand was unnecessary, but it seemed to physically shake the words from his mouth while maintaining the amicable facade.

"We're glad you came so promptly – and I'll assure you that, Ms ---, ah yes, _Fuu _will appreciate it as well—"

"Where's she?" Mugen interrupted, his fingers twitching along the red of his shirt. He noticed that the man's cheeks loosened into a shallow grin, but it was quickly remedy with a chuckle. He carried on regardless.

"I am Katsuo Tanaka --- we met in Edo during the festival." Pausing, he wetted his lips and added to this statement as if Mugen's silence indicated that he had drawn a blank: "I promised your freedom in return for carrying out a task here, in Satusma?"

"Where is she?" he repeated. More laughter prevailed and for the first time, the woman beside him gave a sidelong glance. Emotion --- something like fear --- flitted across her dark eyes.

"Anxious to see her, eh? Don't worry; she's in the back room. After we sort this misunderstanding, you can meet with her."

"What misunderstanding? I did what you wanted didn't I? If 'nythin' went wrong, its 'cause of you fuckos—"

This time, it was Mugen's turn to be silenced. The superficial smile felt like an age ago, replaced by a deep grove of disappointment, which cut into his chin. Hunching his frame over, Katsuo doubled in size, straining against the fabric of his custom clothes. In the hot silence, the scent of sweating men, fear, indecision and night was a pungent odour that weighed against the hollows of his nostrils. Again, his assistant looked nervous as she wrung her fingers tighter around the torch.

"What are those, Mugen?" he asked, indicating with a callous palm to the stacks behind the throne -- boxes, crates and pieces that Mugen had failed to acknowledge. He cocked a brow in surprise, making a grunt in his throat when he was told to _read the blue writing _which he found, (to his surprise), were on every boxes. It didn't make sense. The two lines were not in any dialogue he could understand. Before him, the Shogunate was lighting a pipe, taking his time to curl the silver smoke around the contours of his face.

"Give up?" It wasn't a question. "It's foreign – shipments from boats which never delivered to Edo."

Snorting, Mugen scratched the back of his neck in discomfort.

"I'm a hitman, not a delivery boy – if y'er thinkin' that movin' this junk was part of the deal, you got 'nother thing comin!" Biting his tongue, he knew he was playing with fire and for Fuu's sake he didn't continue. Sweat licked at his palms as the seconds passed by and the general continued puffing on his pipe. When he returned to the conversation it looked that Mugen had seen the last of his fake empathy.

"Look, you little shit," he spat, a sausage like finger pointed at Mugen's chest, "You were assigned to get rid of the person who was causing this commotion – and these boxes are no more than a day old. I thought I was being pretty _fucking generous _by giving you a chance to redeem yourself and then you go on to bugger it up!" Allowing his words to sink in, the older man melded into the back of his chair. Closer to the light, Mugen could make out a faint scar which ran down from his ear to his neck. It was old, and the pale seam had lost its repulsive purple threads. Now all it did was add to his character. It was all the islander could study as his mind reeled with possibilities; of confusion. He killed that boy days ago – and Nekomi had said herself that he was part of the government here in Satsuma. Sliding his geta along the floor, his eyes fell upon the empty boxes that were stored in a chaotic alignment. He couldn't have been mistaken --- it was perfectly clear who he was meant to kill, and yet, he was here, waiting for another opportunity to save Fuu's neck as well as his own. As if sensing Mugen's genuine confusion, Tanaka snapped his fingers, sending the assistant to the back of the warehouse where a door was disguised behind planks of wood.

"Perhaps this will help you remember who you were meant to dispose of."

Mugen didn't even have to look. The familiar scuffling of her shoes wrenched at Mugen's heart before his eyes had adjusted to the image of Fuu ambling behind the older woman. The ropes were thick and heavy around her tied wrists. Blood had begun to pool in jagged sores on her skin. Tanaka asked them to stop before the assistant returned to his side, probably to maintain a few more feet in distance. Although Mugen could tell she was not gravely hurt, when her usually soft brown eyes were raised to meet his, there was something broken within her. The faint flicker of surprise was usurped by a cold, hard stare. It was a daunting sight but strangely, Mugen knew that no matter how he excused himself, there was no escaping that he had done this to her. Perhaps this time, there would be no forgiveness.

"You see: we've been taking care of her, which is as much as we can say for you." He gave a small tut. "Honestly, taking an innocent girl on such a dangerous mission without telling her? That's low, even for you."

"I did what you asked," Mugen repeated slowly with as much calm as he could muster. "The guy is dead—"

The skin of the man's eyelids shuddered as he blinked pityingly at the vagabond.

"You mean that fucking _cross-dresser_?" A hand went up to stroke his brow and Mugen was becoming even more convinced that he would wrench out his katana and slice the man in half if he continued to avoid a straight answer. He spared a glance at Fuu to remind himself to keep his temper in check.

"That's the problem with hiring a hit-man – you're all fucking _retarded!_ If you want something done, you should do it yourself, but in this circumstance there would be no way around it without causing a fuss that could be traced straight back to Edo." He paused to mutter, _cross-dresser _under his breath one more time. "And now, we are never going to catch the culprit because your little stunt with the faggot Prison Warden's son has alerted the true ring leader of our intentions."

"All those people—" Fuu spoke up, her voice cracking. "You killed all those people?" she muttered, brown eyes watching every shadow that mapped Mugen's face. He wasn't looking at her, but she saw how he swallowed hard; his Adam's apple bobbing with the weight of her small voice.

"I can still finish the job. If you want, I'll get it done now and be out'ta your hair."

"What makes you think you'll be able to finish the job this time?"

Mugen growled, "If you tell me 'hoo I'm ment'ta be killin', and where I can find 'em, I'll do it."

Finally, Tanaka smiled a true, wolfish smile. The laughter that fell from his lips was rich with a secret humour that eluded the boy.

"You know where she lives—"

"_She_—?"

"My assistant, Saki here has seen you many a time at the Lady Miou's household."

"Lady Miou—" Mugen was not following. There was a growing pain in chest. It reminded him of when he fell into the ocean after that explosion with Mukaro, and the pressure was mounting and mounting and mounting. He can still picture the island he walked through, the lone bird that hung over head as he travelled through his limbo ---

"Nekomi," Fuu whispered. She was trembling and tears finally sprung to her eyes.

"What the hell'a you talking about," he snapped, not at Tanaka, but at Fuu. His teeth were bared in a sneer. For once, Fuu did not back down, and her stern gaze sent shivers spiralling down into his gut. Her lower lip trembled as if she was prepared to start an argument; however, before she could muster the resolve, she looked away, her eyes dim and reserved.

"Ah, yes, The Beautiful Cherry-blossom --- Nekomi-sama. The sakura in her garden are a wonder to behold. You see—" he began with a grin, "I know her husband well --- a fat, shit stain with a lot of influence and wealth. Sadly, there is nothing I can do to antagonise the little twerp. Nekomi on the other hand, goes too far. Accepting foreign shipments is treason, but everyone likes to make allowances for a little under the table money." Re-lighting his pipe, the object dangled on the cushion of his lower lip. "That _wench_ is making a fuck load of money and I had intended to put an end to this double dealing: after all, you've killed most of her family – why stop you from finishing off the lot?"

Mugen knew that this went beyond provoking him. It was Fuu's discomfort that Tanaka was relishing. Every detail of this plan, every resurfaced memory was a stab to the trust she had for him. Although her eyes were turned to the wall he could see her body trembling, the goose bumps on her arms like blisters on pale flesh. The problems were piling higher and higher. Nekomi – he didn't she was capable of such recklessness, but when he thought of her circumstances, was it really that farfetched? The dead father, the useless husband and the gilded cage --- she had importance stripped from her very essence. Money for her would mean a future she could build away from all the hardship she has had to endure. Spitting, he shook his head and admonished himself for being blind to the signs: _she _was the guest of honour that night, _she _was barely guarded when he rushed her by the carriage; the perfect opportunity for an assassination. Instead, he murdered some skinny twerp with too much time on his hands and lounged in bed with his target. Things shouldn't have had the chance to become personal. And Fuu --- she paid for his own sightlessness.

"Yo, Tanaka."

"Hmm?"

"Can I, talk to the girl – 'n private?"

A high pitched cackle came from the woman, Saki. She pulled on the ropes, forcing Fuu to stumble closer.

"Do you think we are _stupid_, boy?"

"Five minutes."

Dropping her shoulders, Saki stared awestruck at her master. A penchant for arguing was not in her nature though it was evident from her expression that this was an unlikely turn of events.

"Leave your sword here, Mugen. Saki – take her back to the room.

"Sir."

Mugen was already prepared by the time the compartment was readied. The red lacquer sword was discarded carelessly on the ground and Mugen had even removed his geta in a show of good faith. With Tanaka's nod of approval he strutted past the woman, telling him that he'd knock when they were through. She didn't seem to hear and walked straight to her post by Tanaka's side, leaving Mugen to close the door behind him.

("Sir, are you sure it is safe—?"

"Have you seen her eyes, Saki? That girl doesn't want to be saved.")

The corners of the room were stark next to the small outline of Fuu perched in the centre. Her tired body lay on some dried pieces of hay – a bed for a prisoner. Coughing out a, 'hello' didn't do much to attract her attention. She was content to study the welts on her arms, the tears in her pink kimono. Everything about her (small, innocent, pale, delicate) was at ends with the ropes that tied her wrists together like some dangerous criminal. But time was of the essence and a wedge in their conversation could not happen at such a crucial point. Still, this did not stop him from questioning what he hoped to accomplish in these five minutes --- what he could _possibly_ say. Shuffling by the door, it took all of Mugen's courage to take a step towards her, and only three words to make him regret this choice.

"I hate you—"

**N O T E S** : Another chapter left on a bit of a conversation cliff-hanger (she says.) HOPEFULLY no fuck ups like that 'dango' / 'tanto' shit I managed to pull on the previous chapter.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-One – Nothing Can Be Explained  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MuFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : You're just a monster.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

"Fuu?"

"Don't come any closer." She folded her legs into her chest, pressing the side of face into the valley of her thighs. If she had been crying, Mugen would have ignored the request, but this was a side of Fuu that he was unsure of; her steadiness brought around his disquiet.

"You killed her father – her cousin – all those _people, _just for a _job_?"

He sighed. "More complicat'd then tha'."

"Oh _really_?" she said sarcastically, finally raising her head to study his face. She made no room for pity in her expression. "Complicated, is not a word to describe you, Mugen – _complicated _is not a word that you use when you talk about taking peoples' lives!" Her voice came in a yelp that blasted off the walls and into Mugen's ears. She was shaking with rage and the vagrant could do nothing to ease her conscience. All that time he closed her eyes to the things he was doing, and like leading a blindfolded horse through fire, she trusted him with her life. It was only a matter of time before she got burned by the flames. Her eyes narrowed when Mugen gave no answer. Rubbing her nose along her arm, the dried blood splintered off her skin.

"I thought you were different – I was stupid enough to think that you could value people. You were right, you _are _just a monster."

And she meant it. Mugen felt it in her trembling lips and heavy set eyes that she had finally given into the obvious – he wasn't worthy of her attention. He had pressed himself for years that she elevated him on this pedestal of potential; that he could be more than just a hit-man. In the same way, Nekomi infused him with a similar mindset and back then, maybe (if only a little), it worked.) But when she left all that remained were the shells of empty rhetoric. Convincing himself he wouldn't be fooled twice was easier when experience with manipulative women was under his belt. It wasn't Fuu's fault that she had failed time and time again to change him; she had come years too late to make a one-eighty change in his lifestyle. He treated her harshly for her attempts, scolded her, ridiculed her; tried to make it impossible to see the good beneath all the sex, debris and unlawful baggage. And now, when she finally accepted it, there was a pain burrowing deep into his chest. Succeeding in turning the one person who stuck by him through thick and thin was meant to be an accomplishment. All he could feel was remorse and a growing disappointment in himself.

"Cut, cut, slash, break – that's all you're good for," she bellowed, throwing up her tied wrists to demonstrate the point. "Caring about no one – not the people you slice into piece, the broken families you leave behind, or your friends. I should have never come to Satsuma with you."

As she sighed into her knees, Mugen came closer, bending down on his skinny legs so that they were level. He watched her determinedly, willing her to look his way. Despite his closeness, Fuu only stared into the corner of the room, dejected and embittered.

"Why _did_ ya come with me?"

Her eyes fluttered uncertainly at the question.

"I-I," she lost her voice when she remembered the imaginary man she had concocted. Imprisoned by some government lord, the lie seemed unworthy of the wooden walls that surrounded them; too trivial to have gotten her into such a situation. All it succeeded in doing was making her blood boil, perfectly timed for an argument with Mugen.

"Why'd ya tell me you were seein' some fuckhead here?" Raising a hand before rolling his eyes, Mugen interrupted Fuu as she opened her mouth to do a preliminary shot at denial. "Don't bother – I figur'd it out."

Burning crimson along her neck and cheeks, she huffed out curses, scrabbles of dialogue and what sounded like the witless whining of a woman possessed: nothing was intelligible. However, in one burst of thought, anguish and emotion, Fuu's pent up frustration flowed out of her in a stream of whispers like the rasp of a spitting cobra. She resigned herself to her hatred so determinedly that tears wept from her eyes and spittle flew from her lips. Whether it was fuelled by the embarrassment of being caught out, or the sheer calamity of this cluster-fuck of events, Mugen jeered in surprise as Fuu set the boundaries for the beginnings of heated discussion with him, biting into the jugular of their problems.

"And why didn't you tell me you knew Nekomi, huh?" Stunned by something he should have expected, Mugen gave no answer, leaving Fuu to ramble on. "Why did you leave me all those times when you _knew _that something like this could have happened and (don't shake your _damn _head, of course this could happen!) or, or, _or, _why didn't you tell me anything about your past when I asked, practically every night!" --- "Why didn't you tell me that you _were _coming here to see her—"

Mugen stopped her there.

"Fuck me, Fuu, I _told you, _I wasn't here to see her – she – she," he thought of no other way to put this, "Nekomi is a fucking_ mistake, _alright?"His voice broke and his eyes were enlivened with confusion – of a conflict that raged inside him as vividly as Fuu's own. She softened, easing into the melancholy of this dilemma; a much more familiar feeling to the waitress. Watching as his shoulders became slack, his knuckles grazed along the hay, twitching and anxious while his body lurched overhead motionlessly. Although he hid it well, as the seconds ticked he could no longer contain the weight of this decision. The only reason she was a mistake, was because an assassin isn't meant to know his target; not meant to carry the burden of being the murderer of her father and the reason for this entire catastrophe. Even Mugen, relaxed, casual, bitter, _carefree_, Mugen, was shaking from the weight of this consequence. Fuu remembered what she heard, (_I love you,_) and didn't have to wonder how many times he has heard that phrase. He was charged to kill that person and for once, she felt guilty for not having told him her feelings earlier. Perhaps if she had done that, this whole mess would have been black and white. Speckled with shades of grey, there was no easy way round.

"She loves you – she really does."

"Fuu, what,'re –"

"Shut it," she snapped, and began in the same, gentle tones, "I _heard _the confession, Mugen (don't ask me how, I did it by accident.) She loves you, has always loved you even, but you've _killed _her family and brought her to this." Biting her lip, she blinked back the hesitation from her voice. "If, if you want to save _her, _you can – I wouldn't be mad, but _stop the lying, Mugen_ and confess the role you've played in this. She deserves to know."

He didn't tell her to stop being courage, didn't slap her suavely upside the head because she was _annoying him_. Mugen listened for the first time, without some preconceived judgment about her sentimentality. She knew she was crying silently as she confessed (selfishly, she said) that she _loved him too_ but they were 'obviously not meant to be'. It seems that Mugen was already too far gone to be swayed by another declaration of love and just watched limply beside her. Sniffing, she waved her flapping hands, torn between drying her eyes and slapping Mugen for all she's worth.

"Just, save her, _okay_? I'll figure a way out of this one."

As she gave a shaky smile, Mugen grabbed her head roughly, pulling her lips to his in a painful kiss. It was as she imagined; rough, inelegant, in a bend that craned her neck. His hands were so hot against her neck that sweat broke out on the imprint, leaving a lingering outline of heat after he drew back and rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry, thanks."

Chewing her lip, she nodded, watching as Mugen walked from the room and closed the door. It was okay that he was picking _her_ – because at least she had told him, once and for all, that she loved him, regardless of what happens now. Death lost its edge long ago because Mugen was always her knight in damaged armour. Still, she found herself crying. Alone, in a room with her executioners outside, she wondered how long they would wait before they realised that Mugen would never come back for her. She romanticised that they would behead her at sunrise, when the orange sun crawled over the sea and burned the clouds in pinks and burgundy. Closing her eyes, she relished the feeling of his handprint, feeling inch by inch as the cold licked the warmth away.

"Vagrant Mugen," Tanaka said as the boy in question collected his sword and geta before marching towards the entrance of the warehouse. "We expect you to return with some form of _evidence_ of Nekomi's execution – that, or Fuu shall have to compensate for your lack of proof."

Mugen waved a middle finger and slammed the gate shut.

---

("I'll never, ever, no matter how _fucking_ starv'd I am, gonna eat squid. It smells like dog-crap!" Mugen spluttered in between bites, gulping down his pumpkin juice as Nekomi watched, red in the face. With rice sprinkled around his cheeks, the twelve year old snorted and continued eating, only considering his friend's complexion for a second.

"What'cha lookin' at, woman – anyhow, this chick'n is fuckin' awesome! You rich bitches get all 'da good stuff!"

"It's – not – chicken," she said, breaking to contain her smile."

"Wut?"

"It's squid!")

Mugen smiled as the memory sprung to mind. The street was full, the traffic slow. He passed the time, thinking of _her_.

---

**N O T E S** : Next it's Mugen and Nekomi. All I can say is, yes!: MuFuu moment has come to pass! I didn't want it to be cute and, I love you to. I think that confessions had to be made, but I didn't want them to have the 'I fall into your arms' moment.

Coming soon: Mugen saves Nekomi.


	23. Chapter Twenty One and a Half

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-One Point Five –Player Three  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : PG  
**S P O I L E R S** : Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : Interlude  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

It was only a few minutes after Mugen's departure, did Tanaka flag his assistant to his side.

"Sir?"

"Make sure that our man doesn't do anything rash, will you? Intervene if necessary."

Understanding an order she had been given many times this week, the statuess figure pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and exited the warehouse. She was quiet with her footsteps, no more than a shadow along the coast line as she trekked towards Nekomi's home. The night was so desolate that she was surprised to hear the crack of some drift wood behind her. Far enough away from the warehouse to be independent of help, she was on her own. Drawing her tanto, her fingers twitched within the folds of her coat as she continued to walk, judging the distance between her and the other person. She was mistaken – very mistaken not to have turned round earlier.

The cold length of a katana was pressed mercilessly against her throat, her free hand grasped before she had time to retaliate. Warm blood leaked from a small cut along her neck but the assailant did not ease up.

"Where is he going?" the voice asked in a cool whisper.

Mustering her stubborn courage, she spat, eyes bulging as she tried to catch a glimpse of her attacker. He allowed her some leeway, and she stared fleetingly into the shadows of his face, covered by his own hood.

"Like I'd tell you!"

Sighing, almost miserably, she felt his fingers loosen along her hand, the blade slackening against her neck. In a heartbeat she was sure that she had made it through the danger. In seconds, her head rolled along the sand, plopping sickeningly into the frosty waves. In the dark, her blood was nothing more than oil on the dark blue ocean.

"Suit yourself," he grumbled, pulling the hood closer around his face before heading towards the warehouse.


	24. Chapter Twenty Two

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Two – Substitution of Truth  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MuuNeko  
**S U M M A R Y** : Our days are memories.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

The windows were dark, the house an opaque form pressed against a starless sky. Mugen could see that the rooms had been cleaned of their luxuries, the walls barren of colour and ornaments. A few candles burned inside, casting high shadows that licked along the corners, creeping up the stairwell before it disappeared into the second level. Leaning on his elbows the gardens were an unkempt forest peaking out of the corner of his eyes. The Sakura shivered with the wind, sprinkling their blossoms onto the koi-pond. While the guards had been relieved of their duties, perched on the back wall, Mugen saw a few hand-maids packing valuables on the upper floor, scuttling silently as they disappeared from one window and trotted out from behind another. He could see all of them avoiding Nekomi's room like the plague; eyes narrowed on the walls or floor-boards whenever they snuck past her closed doors. Behind the screen of her window the amber glow of a candle flickered in her room.

Unsure of her location, Mugen sprung silently onto the ledge of the terrace his body churning in protest from the effort. He crept eagerly to the window, flipping open the latch and pressing through the beige screen. Unlike the previous occasions he'd been here there wasn't the usual scent of lavender or the faint tinge of cherry-blossom from the gardens. With the furniture moved and the chest of draws gone, the faint odour of musk was ever-present. Sliding towards her desk he saw that the candle wax had waned onto its steel holder, dripping onto the deep mahogany wood. Papers were scattered over the surface, some peaking under stacks of clothing piled on the floor. Looking dismally at the writing, his lips tightened as he flicked past mentions of quotas, deals and prices. It was all here, the mention of her betrayal written in her elegant hand. She was caught with her fucking _fist_ in the cookie jar and yet Fuu was the one cuffed in some dodgy warehouse, bruised and battered. And yet the animosity he felt for her was conflicted, as it has always been when concerning Nekomi. The squawk of the parrot roused Mugen from his thoughts, and he stared into the mirror before him, catching what he thought was the glint of the gilded cage which hung over the futon. But the shimmer that was caught in his widening eyes was too familiar for him to be tricked. As the nodachi sliced through the air, Mugen leapt dramatically to the side, watching from a scrawled position on the wall as the blade slipped through the desk, forcing the papers airborne while the candle tumbled to the floor.

Nekomi was breathing heavily as she heaved the sword back to her side, letting the massive blade tip drag to her left. She stood bend-over, her lithe frame covered by a white kimono with silver embroidery. With her bare features and wan complexion, it felt as if he were staring into the face of a ghost. Her lifeless eyes were rimmed with red and a passion that had been extinguished long ago. All that remained were the sticky remnants of determination which drove her for one purpose – to kill. He wondered in those few seconds when they stood their ground, if he looked like that; if that wild, senseless expression burned in his features? Anticipating her next attack, Mugen rolled to the ground, narrowly missing the nodachi's elongated edge which curved overhead. The assault didn't end there. She swung mindlessly at him, forgetting technique as she sliced up her room and tore into her possessions. The bird bounced in its cage with a similar fury, watching as Mugen swerved to the side to avoid each hit. She tired, as he knew she would, but in a fashion that surprised the vagabond. Through his own laboured breaths he saw how her eyes were closed with each new strike as if willing fate to hit him for her. Lips pulled in a grimace, fought to tremble as her body tensed before each impact. A pain he had been ignoring in his abdomen begun to slow his movements. He didn't have time to fool around. As she gathered herself for the final blow – nodachi almost cutting the ceiling, Mugen bounded, grabbing her wrists and pressing her into the wall. Shaking against him, he saw how the tendons on her forearms were ready to burst from her skin as each cell in her body willed her to attack. He could feel the sweat of her brow, the humid breath which sunk through his shirt onto his skin. Dizzy with alarm he could not bring himself to let her go and waited as little by little she lost the battle and reserved herself by loosening her grip on the sword. Soon, it was Mugen's turn. Looking after the blade was one thing. Having to face Nekomi, another.

As he flung the sword to one side, Nekomi hurried from him out of the way, throwing herself to one end of the room. She only managed to make it too the futon, her legs giving way to stress.

"You _animal_ – you _fucking animal_!" she wheezed, clutching her arms. Wisps of hair were curling into her mouth, out into the sky from her once beautifully designed bun. Colour rushed into her cheeks, painting the illusion of life into her face. She carried her anger better than Fuu, with more determination, but she couldn't hold it. In the darkness she cradled her chest in her arms, looking for a candle to light the way. Mugen just watched with his god-like indifference. His stomach ached, and he knew from the cool puddle that formed across his clothes, that the wound had reopened. To what extent, he couldn't tell – the dark made everything black.

"You've taken everything away from me: my father, my cousin, and now my freedom."

"I know," he grunted, "I know I have." Walking towards her his lean frame towered overhead. Reaching down, he missed her, his fingers locating the candle before placing it on the floor next to her. He left Nekomi to scour for the matches. It took her some time. Retreating into herself as he approached, she sent him daggers and he felt that similar pang of regret wedge into his chest; that similar disbelief that someone who loved him so entirely (with all his faults, all his shortcomings) now cowering in fear of him like any other person. Matches in hand, she hesitated as she lit the flame, letting it hover over the wick.

"I don't want to see your face," she told him bitterly.

"I need ta see yours."

"Why?"

"I need ta see y'er face befor' I kill you."

He could see her stiffen in the shadows, knew her eyes were narrowed on his face, but she did what she was told. In the orange glow, her features were porcelain at best, and he memorised the lines of her child-like nose, her stubborn gaze, and the lips which should always be turned into a smile. Even now, the girl he knew was _somewhere _in those jade eyes, that innocent face. The deeds of her personal life seemed to pale in light of her appearance; of the face he knew since childhood. It made it easier for him to speak, gave him the courage to make his voice soft in a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Nekomi. I've fucked it up, real good, 'n I know nothin' I say will make it up to'ya."

"But," she whispered when he failed to continue. She knew when there was more for him to say. He felt the knot grow tighter in his throat.

"Fuu's been taken by the Shoguns – they want to kill 'er."

The news didn't seem to shock Nekomi. Looking down she was troubled, but certainly not overwhelmed by what she had heard. A sad simper came to her lips as if she knew that this was just another page in a sad story with a predictable dilemma. Her calmness put a stopper on Mugen's heart. He felt himself grow roots into this rift that formed between them; an invisible book mark crammed between their histories.

"They want me for her, right?"

He nodded. Nekomi chuckled.

"So it really was _you _all along – the one assigned to kill me. When you rushed me outside the theatre – you were there to kill me, weren't you?"

She seemed so convinced of this fact that Nekomi gawped as Mugen shook his head firmly, uttering a reserved, _no_ to the statement.

"I didn't know – killed your cousin 'cause of it. I follow'd ya that night 'cause I needed to see if you were the Nekomi I remembered."

"_But,_" she pressed him again.

"But you've fucked up big, Nekomi and Fuu's paying for your shit stain in Toku Warehouse." He snarled. "What the hell'ja think you would of accomplished?!"

She understood, or so it appeared. Staring hard into the small flame, she moved a hand around the heat, trying to test how close she could get before she got burned. That was always her nature; the curious cat.

"I wish things could be a little different. With Fuu, with you and I – with my father."

"Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one get's full first." It was a harsh piece of advice and it did well in fuelling another bout of rage in Nekomi.

"Don't give me that crap, Mugen. You can't lecture me that what I've done is wrong. You _killed _my father. If it wasn't for you, none of this would have happened – you can shake your head all you want, but it's true."

He wasn't going to retaliate; point a finger and remind her that she left him on that island at the mercy of all those corrupters and influences. He waited for years for her to come back, went to her room all those times even though no one was there. It was too late to get into an argument about the chicken and the egg; play fate's game to see whether if they had met each other all those years ago, if destiny would have paved them a new life. He focused on the short stabs of pain as he recollected, feeling what he felt back then rather than having to deal with the sight of her curled up on the floor, peering into the fire.

"I don't wanna kill ya, but this shit has hit da fan 'n Fuu's in danger."

She didn't wait long to reply.

"Do it then – you've already taken it all. I'm just one more statistic right? Seems like I should have left you alone, the night you stole my necklace."

Surprise flitted across his face and for a moment, he hesitated.

Pulling his katana from his back, Nekomi watched as he eased the sword from his sheath, using only one hand to steady it. She didn't think it would be like this – that the little boy on the island would turn and bite the hand that feeds. Closing her eyes, she waited.

When the sword came down, the bird fluttered its wings in dismay, coming to rest on its perch. Mugen was watching her keenly, staring into those unblinking, beady eyes; the red plummage that was bristled around the beak. She was silent, for once, and Mugen ignored the blood that began to pool on the floor.

("What's this island called, Mugen? Why is it here?"

In the dying sunlight, the pebble skirted over the purple waves of the sea before plopping into the deep abyss. He was silent for a long time.

"Ya know what death is, yea'?"

She nodded.

"This is where the bad shits go when they die – it's called hell."

She seemed confused, and pulled at his hand like a pesky child.

"Why are you here then, Mugen?"

With a wry grin, he reached for another pebble.

"Because I'm the worst of them—")

**N O T E S** : More moving plots (great balls of fire!) we're on a run here! So, I don't want to give too much away here, or what has been done in the previous chapter. I'll let you stew in your own ideas about what is going on, how Mugen could kill Nekomi, and whether Tanaka will keep his word on letting Fuu go. Will the evidence be enough? Until next time ---


	25. Chapter Twenty Three

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Three – Substitution of the Truth Part II  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MuuFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : .  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

It had begun to rain lightly. In an instant the streets were cleared. People took shelter under the tattered canopies reaching out from shop entrances, huddled together nervously as the fire lamps were extinguished and the streets became dim with the resonance of chitchat and pitter-patter. Puddles formed in the potholes, becoming deep and infectious bogs as the road tailed off into the dirt of an old highway, now the only artificial route to the warehouses.

Mugen carried himself tirelessly down its winds and bends, stopping only to admire the Toku building beside the sea. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the dark planks and tumulus ocean, making the raindrops glow like pieces of iron flecking off a concave roof. Again the guards saw him before he did and rushed inside to prepare the soldiers for his arrival. As the trek into the warehouse became routine, Mugen felt his muscles coil in preparation, tongue hot along the inside of his cheek. The scene unfolded as he knew it would: the troops parting, Tanaka chuckling long into the darkness – it was all the déjà vu he could withstand as he made his way towards the Shogunate lord.

"You know, I worry about you, Mugen," said Tanaka, leaning his hefty frame over his arms which were resting on his thighs, palms flat over each tree trunk. "I think you're a man who doesn't know how to make wise decisions; the type who fucks up even when shown the way." Clapping his hands with enjoyment, the throne seemed to tremble as he flew into its backing. "I'm glad that you've surprised me and I am sure that Fuu-kun appreciates the gesture also." From behind the vagabond, the wet slaps of sandals reverberated around the room. Saki had returned, the hooded assistant moving deftly to stand behind her master. Tanaka didn't acknowledge her arrival. Instead he continued to watch Mugen with his hungry, searching eyes. It was as if he had found a new possession; a lovely, porcelain doll for him to humiliate. Like a puppeteer he set the scene, curling his little foot soldiers around his fingers till they danced and twirled as directed. Unexpectedly, Tanaka looked towards the back room, the laughter yet to die from his lips,

"Fuu," he yelled, loud enough that his voice tickled the high ceiling. "Fuu, you've got yourself a visitor."

There was no response and despite himself, Mugen was looking after the door with fearful eyes, the silver of his iris glinting with his budding anxiety.

"_Mu-mugen_?" came a shout, muted by the patter of rain. It was faint, but definitely Fuu.

Nonetheless, Mugen was not appeased.

"Bring 'er out."

Stroking the skin of his neck, Tanaka looked mildly amused by the order.

"Go on, Saki, you heard the man," he chuckled, knuckling down to business as soon as Saki made her way towards the back room. "And your evidence?"

It looked that Mugen was reconsidering his options. He didn't move; an unflinching form against the inky backdrop of cleaned katanas and black-robed figures. The cold breeze moulded his damp shirt to the definition of his bones, but his hair had begun to regain its spiky sprouts. Only a few lay flat with water. But it was when Fuu was taken from the room by Saki, ropes still looped round her wrists, did he remember the plan. Her eyes were wide with alarm, studying Mugen's face for an explanation. She had given up on him, so he thought. The tears started quickly after she lowered her gaze. He didn't know if it was because he had returned, or because his return meant that Nekomi was dead. Knowing Fuu, it was a little of both.

Loosening his fingers, the small, gold object gave a dull shine as it was thrown to Tanaka, the old man catching it deftly in his bear like palm. The bird pendant was tattered from age and abuse, yet beneath the cuts in its opulence design he could still make out the intricate details written beneath his thumb. Turning it over, the crest was identifiable, along with the lone N kanji displayed across the chest.

"It's easier to carry, 'den an arm," Mugen stated blandly.

"Indeed." Tanaka was absentminded, still weighing the pendant in his hands. While the rain and cleaned most of it the ridges were lined with blood and grit.

"Saki did you witness the killing?" he asked, his eyes rolling to the corners to peer at the hooded mistress as she gave a nod, confirming the allegation. It didn't feel as if it was enough. The guards were all standing silently, waiting for the order – not daring to let their swords bob from their relaxation. And so, the hostile atmosphere continued long into the minutes of the evening with Mugen waiting motionless for some form of approval to be made. He let nothing slip by unnoticed; not the shallow breathes in his chest, or the twitch that fluttered by his brow. Everything was suppressed under his resolve.

"Well," Tanaka said with a beaming smile, "I guess it's all done and dusted, eh?" Waving a hand at Saki he uttered the words Mugen had been dying to hear, "You're free to go, Fuu."

Nothing, in his life had felt as slow as watching the thick ropes winding down and around the girl's thin arms. Mugen studied the skeletal fingers as they made a meal of untying, and for the sake of his temper his eyes darted around the room to stop himself from throwing a tantrum. They had made it through hell, and it would be wise of him to keep himself in check until they have past those fiery gates. Naturally, Tanaka's studious gaze did not evade him. Mugen could see that cheeky grin, the white scar that was luminous in the evening darkness. It fixated him, so much so that Fuu was pulling his hand in earnest when she was finally set free. Something burned deep inside his gut. Like a stone thrown into an ocean, it was a sinking sensation that haunted his conscience.

"Let's go, Mugen," Fuu pressed, her little voice filled with urgency. The guards had parted to allow them passage, but the reels of ravenous eyes watching as they made their way to the light at the end of the tunnel made this all seem too easy. Mugen was becoming numb to the heat of Fuu's fingers as the cold flitted across his neck and coiled at the base of his spine. They made it to the entrance before Tanaka spoke up, as Mugen knew he would.

"You stay, Mugen."

Fuu looked desperately back at the Shogun, glaring hard into his smiling face. Mugen squeezed her hand, bringing her eyes back to him. He mustered an apathetic sneer, but she could see past his stiff upper lip. He trembled, she saw, his free hand having to hold fast to the hem of his shirt to stop the others from noticing. But it wasn't from fear – and then she saw. Leaning down towards her, she saw the blood; the small patch of crimson that continued to grow under her gaze, slinking across his stomach. It took all her courage not to say anything as his lips brushed against her ear, his words a hot mess that took her seconds to recognise. Feeling his fingers slid from hers as he turned back to the crowd, Fuu was rooted to the ground.

"Go on," he told her.

"Mugen, I-I don't understand _why! _What's at—"

"_Go," _he repeated sternly, in the same voice he used when there was nothing more to discuss and his temper was fraying. He had tried to keep her oblivious, but he had shown her that twinge of pain as he leaned in, how his hands shook with the effort to maintain his pose. If he was going to fight even he ---

"I'll be alright."

Frowning, Fuu took one second for herself to stare into his back before jogging out of the entrance and into the rain. When the doors closed shut behind her she had reached the knoll overlooking the coast and took a moment to catch her breath. His whispered words were reeling in her head but she needed more to go by than just blind faith. With Mugen, such fancy could only go so far. She considered going back, (considered many things in fact) but as she turned towards the direction she came from the image of Mugen's proud face stuck fast to her mind, forcing her to run further and further from the warehouse.

"I knew you'd come up with some shit t'stop me from leavin'."

He chortled, deep and throaty. "I said _Fuu _could go – I never said anything about you."

"'N I'm guessing that lettin' her go has nothin' t'do with lettin' her live, am I right?"

"You catch on fast, boy."

Scratching the back of his neck, Mugen feigned boredom.

"So _why _you holding me back, boss?"

"You're a convicted criminal, Mugen!" Tanaka said with wide eyes."I can't possibly let the murderer of this high-ranking family go strutting around the streets! I have a reputation to uphold!"

"N' here I was thinkin' that your reputation as a shiteater wrote itself."

"Careful, Mugen," he replied in a gravelly voice, his eyelids taught with a brief spout of anger. "We don't need to make things anymore unpleasant than they already are."

Nodding, Mugen reached behind him, unsheathing his katana.

"True 'dat. I guess I'll just have to bloody your ugly ass a little bit and save the unplesantries for later."

He was not amused, and sneered at the comment.

"These are your last words Mugen, let's make them count."

"Yeah? So how's this: the best part of you dried up on yo' mum's thigh?"

The first sword rushed out from behind him. The moon was beautiful, shining down through the holes in the ceiling, leaving stars of light dotted on the bloody floor.

Fuu rushed through Nekomi's house without stopping. Her heart was set to burst, her body burning under the drenched clothes of her kimono. The rain poured down with a vengeance, drowning out the throbbing footfalls of her geta against the steps. She came here, as she was told by Mugen, unsure what she was going to find. Pushing the screen door open with a thud, she recoiled at the sight of blood stained on the floor. The room was a mess of torn paper, illuminated by a candle that had melted into the ground. And then she saw _her_: lifeless eyes staring into the empty bird cage above her – the little entrance still open as if awaiting the parrot's return. In a mixture of horror and confusion, she took slow strides inside, finally feeling the cold stabbing her in the back.

"_How is it possible_?"

Nekomi placed the quill down next to the paper, unable to remove her gaze from the cage.

"I let her go – she's free now," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "Fuu," she said, jade eyes twitching from their vacant stare to the girl poised by the entrance to her room. "I'm glad you're safe."

**N O T E S** : bombshell?! I hope so! I know many of the Nekomi haters are all, WTFing at the moment, but don't worry – there is an explanation to all things. You'll just have to wait for the next chapter to see what it is!


	26. Chapter Twenty Four

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Three – What They Know  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : MuuFuu  
**S U M M A R Y** : Let's wrench the monkey out.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

_She heard the wind's whimper as the sword cut through the air, the wood groaning as the tip of the blade was jammed into its side. There wasn't pain, nothing -- just Mugen's breathing rising over her own. Her hands however, felt warm, and as she opened her eyes she saw they were glazed with blood. Tracing the sword that narrowly missed the curve of her thigh, she saw Mugen's hands trembling as he leaned his weight on the hilt. Blood wept from his old bandage, splashing on her fingers, tainting her white kimono._

_"You... might wanna move," he whispered. Like a catalyst her body rotated into motion and she scrabbled into the back of the wall._

_"Wha-what are you doing?" Honestly, she didn't understand – he was going to kill her and yet all he accomplished was driving his weapon so deep into the floor that his wound re-opened. Steadying himself, he reached behind him, fumbling to untie the sheath from its ribbon; all the while ignoring Nekomi who was frantic with bewilderment._

_"She's going to die if you don't—who knows?! Maybe they've already cut off her head! They have spies—someone will confirm whether I am dead or not—oh, Lord, Mugen, what the hell are you doing—"_

_He was leaking through his shirt and yet he continued to shake the sword's sheath with mad determination, stopping every few seconds to jam his fingers inside, apparently trying to fish something out. Finally, she heard the clatter, the unorganised beat or an object beaming down the length of the tube. It rushed past Mugen's fingers and landed by Nekomi's feet. As she bowed her fingers around the cold metal, a rush of familiarity highlighted her features. It was damaged – chipped, fragile and coated with grime yet the engraving of her initials was disguisable. Despite her attempts to clean it, Mugen's blood was smeared into its marks and flaws with every subtle stroke of her thumb._

_"How did you get this?"_

_"On the island—you left it there."_

_It had been so long now that Nekomi forgot whether her act was even intentional. The whirlwind of her life had pressed such trivial matters so far from conscious thought that with its re-emergence, she felt youth trickle back into her mind. As nostalgic comforts were, they were quickly suppressed by the metallic scent of blood. Scuttling to her draws she searched for new bandages. Mugen took her seat, clutching at his stomach._

_"I remember, that's when I knew ya left fo' good. Nothin' there but that—n' keep close to the floor, Nekomi; don' want no spies seeing you walkin' round." As requested, the woman hurried back towards him, dragging herself on the floor with one underarm clutching a reel of bandages. She went to work, peeling his shirts back to manage the wound. Her lips tightened, leaving her worries unmasked. Smiling, Mugen spoke to break the silence._

_"I didn't sell it like I said that night. I should'a but, didn't in the end. At least it'll come in handy."_

_"You can't do anything like this," she said, ignoring his comment. "The wound's reopened and you'll probably bleed through these new bandages."_

_"But it'll stop the bleeding for a time, yea'?" Unperturbed, Nekomi wiped her bloodied hands on her kimono, shaking her head._

_"It's not a way out, Mugen – you do anything strenuous, the blood will start coming again." Biting her lip, she rested her quivering hands on the arch of her thigh. "You have to save her Mugen, and if that involves killing me—"_

_Mugen huffed._

_"You claim to be a listener, but ya obviously didn't hear me when I said, I don't wanna kill you."_

_"Yes but—"_

_"It means, I ain't doin' what I don't wanna do, girl."_

_Nekomi always valued Mugen's stubbornness, how he fucked with the system, feeling no consequence, living with no understanding, but he was toying with his life. How many years more would it take him to appreciate his luck; how many more times would he knock on the devil's door before he was answered._

_"What's your plan—use the pendant to prove my death, keep the blood stains and hope you're miles away before they realise that I'm alive?"_

_Shrugging his shoulders, Mugen took the pendant from her before heaving himself to his feet._

_"Looks like."_

_"And what about the blood, Mugen – your shirt will still have the stains."_

_Pointing out the window, Nekomi could only stare at the black sky sprinkled with stars. The rolling clouds seemed lavender over the radiant town._

_"Rain's comin' in," he explained and Nekomi was as dubious as ever._

_"And what if it doesn't, Mugen – what if you're not drenched in water and they see that you're bleeding? What if—"_

_"We don't have any more time," he said. "This'll have to do."_

_"If you would just kill me—"_

_Again she was cut off. Mugen had had enough of her bullshit. Wrenching his sword from the floor, he pocketed the weapon, his other hand warped around the pendant. Answering her with a cold stare, Nekomi averted her eyes to the wound, willing it to heal._

_"D'ya really think that they'd let me go even I do kill ya?"_

_Mugen gathered himself for the journey, taking Nekomi's advice by slowing down to avoid traumatizing the wound any further. She watched from the sidelines, unsure how to help. Eventually, she found the words inside herself; hidden beneath the layer of confusion and contempt when she thought of her father. Above the patter of newly fallen rain, her voice was a whisper in the dark._

_"When am I going to see you again?"_

_For the first time, Mugen took the steps out of her room._

_"If I see ya again in this lifetime, it'll be too soon."_

* * *

Fuu's face contorted in an array of emotions; relief, anguish, disbelief and more often than not, disdain. Nekomi was no more than a woman possessed by her own storytelling abilities; transfixed on a tale that seemed less and less like reality as she threaded each word with her airy, dulcet tones. Her eyes stared through her, sending Goosebumps along Fuu's arms. Chopstick hair-tie gone, the fibres of her hair curled around her face, hiding the bruises and pink scratches from her ordeal at the warehouse.

"What are you _doing_?" she demanded. Nekomi blinked pointlessly up at her. Sense had seeped from her pores, leaving this fleckless doll for the young waitress to manage – a task she didn't have time for. Rather than answer, Nekomi went back to her writing, leaving beautiful calligraphy stains upon the yellowing parchment. Despite the rage thrumming inside her, Fuu succumbed to her wandering eyes which surveyed the room. Almost everything was gone, save for the throws of paper dotted across the floor, a futon and her tanto. The blood had dried in a messy patch and while Nekomi's white kimono was laced with red finger-prints, she knew instinctively that it was Mugen's. She recalled how he winced walking her threw the warehouse and a new wave of urgency crawled along her skin.

"Yo-you have to save him, Nekomi!" The request was a garble of syllables and hisses. "Do something—order your guards to stop that guy!" Blowing to help dry the ink, it was when Fuu gave an animalistic screech did Nekomi return from her daydreaming. Clearing her throat with a cough, she folded the letter and tucked it into the folds of her kimono.

"They've all gone to Edo. The guards—they should come back to collect me in the morning when they are sure there is no threat to my security."

"That's too late!" Fuu stated needless, throwing her head back. Droplets of water flew from each tendril to splatter on the floor.

"So what would you have me do?" Her face revealed nothing, but Fuu caught the way her voice quivered with the exigency for an answer. There was life in her yet.

"Help him! Get someone to—to—to." Trailing away, she wasn't sure how she could protect him. Disintegrating under the other's cold, jade eyes, her confidence melted away under the pressure to find a solution, sitting in her throat like a heavy pestilence. She leant against the door frame, her look pleading Nekomi for something—_anything_ that could solve this mess. Mugen should not have to carry the burden for both their mistakes.

"I know he killed your father," she began, watching as Nekomi raised herself from the floor to a nodachi that was discarded on the floor, "but you love him. He'll die if we don't do something." She knew that mentioning love was a risqué business (Nekomi's eyes narrowed on her face until she felt colour drain from her cheeks) but now was not an occasion for etiquette and subtleties. Still, Nekomi didn't seem moved and Fuu resigned herself to the idea that she was now Mugen's last hope. Moving towards her tanto, she tightened her lips to feign determination. Compared to the beautiful nodachi settled in Nekomi's hands she felt severely underprepared. It was almost a blessing when the woman stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, flexing her fingers to get her attention.

"Wait here, I'll get some supplies for you," she murmured, "Go to that draw and take the bandages – Mugen will need some." Fuu fumbled between a smile, a hug and a nod before rushing down on her knees, scrambling for the aid kit. Nekomi slipped past unnoticed, nodachi tied to her back. It was only when she locked her door did she Fuu react, rushing to try and open it. When her fist pounded away, the aristocrat could barely make out her questioning voice, only noticing how the pleads disbanded behind the curses and huffs as she became more persistent.

"I'm sorry, but I can't risk losing you," she said, unsure if Fuu could hear her. With a sigh, she hurried down the stairs and out of her house, only looking back at the sakura whose proud leaves towered over the wall of her father's home. In the pouring rain, she hurried into the street, taking to the forking paths which would release her from her Satsuma prison.

**N O T E S** : Sorry this chapter took a little longer to finish. I was out of the country with no internet so it was all I couldn't complete this chapter until I got back. Listed to some David Bowie while writing this piece – for some reason it made the task a'hella lot easier. Hope you enjoyed it! :]


	27. Chapter Twenty Five

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Four – Steel Fireworks  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : Staring down the winding staircase. This isn't an exit.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

It's arms, legs and bodies hurled carelessly along the edge of his sword, into the tip which grinds mercilessly against flesh, bone and soul. He felt them die by his blade. Some don't know it's coming and stare wide eyed as the pain slices through them. The light doesn't go quick enough from their eyes because in their mind, they're still living. Throwing them to the side, they slide with a sickening plop before thundering across the floor with the echo of a bouncing ball. Above the rumble of footsteps and clashing katanas, Mugen could still make out the sounds of the dead as they rolled away, forgotten. He wanted to smile, fold himself into the rush of battle, yet there was something wedged in between his joints which made him unfocused, almost hesitant as each masked figure raced to their death. Tanaka didn't move from his throne, watching the scene with apparent boredom while is woman-servant, Saki lingered behind him.

The waves were beginning to seem endless—and dawn, further away. Mugen caught himself staring into the ceiling, watching as grey clouds hovered overhead. The metallic hum of his sword always brought him back—but his distractions were coming more often between shorter intervals. The enemy's blade was getting closer. Mugen was helpless to prevent it. It was if he could see his own deterioration, listen, wait and observe his body failing under the weight of his task. The pain on his side was numb now—but the blood, he could feel the hot trails of it dripping down his leg. At first it was easy to ignore; swing a sword and feel it connect with a body, fusing his resolve for another battle. It was his therapy. _But there are so many_—

His mind was becoming scarce, fleeing to memories, driving into the lost caverns of thought and appreciation; voids that hadn't been filled or nurtured for a long time. He noticed that less of them were attacking, though the swarm remains. It was not until the first wave of fatigue truly gripped him (eyes shuddering with pockets of darkness, his sword, almost falling from his grasp—the blurred noise of impact) did he understand why. They are waiting. Like serpents they are waiting, tasting his exhaustion on their forked tongues, biting at his resolve to try and quicken what is inevitable. Mugen _will _fall. When half of them were lying bloodied on the floor (a few rolling limbless, screeching out in pain) there was a moment of darkness—literal and overwhelming _nothing_. Sound came back to him first—the nervous chatter of voices rose up in a stifled chorus, flooded his ears and pried his eyes open. He was staring into the broken ceiling of the warehouse when his vision came to him (had to blink back past the rain which fell in through the flaws of the rooftop). The ground had manifested behind his back, cold and stable. None of them had made the final move to end his life, though they encircled him—_still waited._

Behind the crowds, he saw movement. It was static, dark and Mugen could only _just_ make out their feathers. _They are here to collect him, _he thought. A voice, from reality, grounded him to his body. When the vagrant looked again, the crow man could not be found. Instead, Saki, the personal assistant, was standing in the foreground, away from her master.

"You are at your limit, Mugen." Tanaka was talking. "Blood loss is a scary thing."

Mugen was trying to hold onto the fibres of his words. It was becoming difficult to make heads of tails between the intonations. His heart was fit to burst—felt like a bird's as it pounded away behind his ribs.

"You must be feeling it now. You're arms are heavy, as limp as your dick on an ugly whore. You must be having difficulty seeing me—and maybe, maybe you're hallucinating, hmm? I remember when I got this cut (Mugen knows his pointing at the scar on his face; he's arrogant enough to think he can see him) and the blood just kept coming and coming and coming. My world seemed to _melt_ from the very corners of my sight. It's worse than death—because it's the wait that many of us don't come back from. One, _you, _will not come back from."

By the way a few brave souls closed in on him, Mugen was certain that Tanaka had given the order for the execution. He fumbled for his sword, but only managed to shimmy the blade closer to him. His body now ached (all traces of numbness gone) and refused to move as his will dictated.

Again, behind the scenes, the crow man resurfaced—and this time, he did not disappear.

"Fuu," Mugen mumbled, and mustered the resolution to stay awake, to see this through to the end.


	28. Chapter Twenty Six

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Six – A Reunion  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : It's time for a little intervention.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

What is past, what is passing and what is to come is an illiterate jumble; Mugen cannot tell the difference anymore. He coughs, and substance splatters on his lips, dribbles down his chin—_blood_, he guesses with a lopsided smile. Numbness creeps along the contours of his legs—spamming by his knees as he wills them to move. His clothes are damp from the rains. He can't tell if the cut's still weeping blood. Mugen rolls his eyes to the side, stares up through the droplets at the masked faces .They're so many of them—a hoard, _plague_ of militia. And the Crow Men—there are more of them now; their black feathers glinting onyx as they peak and drive through the shadows with haunting agility. Their eyes—he can never quite see them, and perhaps that's because they don't have any. That isn't the case though, because Mugen can feel them _looking _at him. _Waiting_. It's in the weight pinning down his chest on the stone ground, his lifeless fingers twitching along the pommel of his sword—their gazes were as heavy as any force.

He needs to get up. He needs to keep on fighting.

He needs to breathe.

And then it begins.

"_Thanks—" her face is tiny, gentle—and that smile—"For letting me come with you—to Satsuma."_

_She is a crumpled mass on the floor, marred with cuts. Hay is sprinkled over her pink kimono. Her lips are a tight line of disapproval. "I hate you!" _

"_It may not look like much now, but give it some time and it will grow into something beautiful indeed." He remembers her laughter, and it swells in his heart—makes him cough again. Definitely blood. With another sly grin he thinks that Nekomi is always making him bleed. _

"_You've taken everything from me!" _

His foot gives a weak shudder before dragging along the ground, finally being planted on the floor after an agonising journey. The other followed. Soon, his fingers tighten against the floor, bending as he props himself onto his side. The guards give him a wide birth as his free hand finally reclaims its hold on the hilt of his sword. His rise is shaky, yet there is strength to his resilience, one that gives his enemies pause as they watch in silence. The Crow Men look on.

"Hmm? You can still stand?" Tanaka bellows from his throne. Mugen can see his knuckles whitening along the arm of his chair. His head turns to his assistant—a stiff nod given in her direction. Mugen ponders idly if Sara is hiding her blind eyes beneath that ominous hood—another woman; another one who has almost killed me. The warriors shuffle indignantly to give her space. The vagabond can do nothing buut stand—finally shoving the tip of his sword into the ground as an extra leg to lean on. Even without moving, he was fighting to keep the blackness at bay—the creeping sense of impending darkness flitting along the corners of his eyes. Through his heavy breaths he watches as her lean frame draws closer, making a beeline to this stage they had prepared for her—for this final battle. She doesn't say anything—merely stands and watches. Mugen spits, throwing his head back, his wet hair like vines on the curves of his face.

"You don't have to pity me, bitch. Come at me with all you've got—let's finish what you started in Edo."

Still no response from her.

Tanaka yelled out from the sidelines.

"What are you _doing_ you stupid girl—hurry up and—"

"Girl, woman, bitch, wench. Females have it hard," the assistant replied in a low, even voice, prompting Mugen's draw to hang a little as he questioned his hearing. She sounds very—_un_-womanly. A curious fighter edges closer to her, and in a gasp his lips begin to tremble, his eyes, watering from surprise.

"She—_it's_ a _crossdresser_!" Pointing a hand accusingly at the hooded figure, he spluttered at Tanaka, shaking with his convictions "It's not Sa-"

Mugen did love a good amputation. The blade was drawn so quickly that he had difficulty following the murky slice of silver that darted etherreally in the night. The hand gave a thud as it fell to the floor, and then the blood—then, the screaming. The woman seemed unperturbed, unlike the rest of the batallian who began pointing their weapons at her, seemingly forgetting about their main target.

"What the—"

"You know you're a troublesome child." Saki said. Mugen knew she was addressing him.

"That voice—"

"Undisciplined, chaotic—runs around leaving Fuu, Buddha knows where—honestly Mugen, I thought that I'd taught you something about responsibility and duty."

Gracefully, Jin tucked his katana into the sheath, his hand drawing back the grey hood that concealed his wan complexion but bright, cheerful eyes. A small smile played on his lips, despite his exhasperated tone.

"Yare-yare. Look at the mess you've gotten us into once again."


	29. Chapter Twenty Seven

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Seven – A Hope In Hell  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : We're almost finished—and Mugen knows he isn't going to make it out of this alive.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

* * *

The two eye each other in silence. Mugen, slung over his katana is breathing so long and hard that his body trembles from the effort. His eyes, however, have regained some clarity; some focus as they take in the familiar angles and shapes of his old travelling companion. He is as he remembered from that fateful day at the tea house, to the evening they parted ways on the crossroads: utterly and wholeheartedly aggravating to look at. Thunder rumbles up above. The patter of rain becomes deafening. From the door, the coast of Satsuma is a tremulous ebb and flow of frothy waves, shimmering like weaved webs of silk as the rain splutters down from the heavens. The houses are alight with the glow of precipitation.

"Eyes on your opponents, Mugen," Jin says. The vagabond pays his respects, turning his head to scan the masses once more. He was drifting again—and Jin brought him back. He knew he should be thanking him, but the lingering threads of hatred for his rival (albeit, respected rival, one should add) looped in his stomach, gripping him with a strange discomfort and ease. It was as if his sheer presence tempted Mugen's long-forgotten promise to kill him; despite their reconciliation; despite the _insignificant _detail of there being fifty more soldiers who were itching to carve a name out of his hide this very moment. Still, Mugen felt the adrenaline shudder down the lengths of his arms, giving him resolve enough to straighten his back, his legs and face this surprising sightseer. A hand went protectively to his wound, touching the wet skin through the fabric as if to hold him in one piece. Jin's gaze followed, and he gave a silent blink of comprehension.

"You need some stitching up."

"Ha! Fuck you, four-eyes. You're late." Mugen's teeth gleamed in the near darkness with his ferocious smile. Jin took it upon himself to smirk at the demonic gesture.

"I thought you needed to handle this yourself? Wasn't that always your motto?"

"I'm in shit—two kinds of crazy with a side order of fucked up. Women are cuttin' me up from everywhere, Fuu's gone and gotten herself captured—yeah, I know, _again, _right?—and this ugly _fuck_ over here, wants my guts for garters. You dig?"

"I suppose." Jin gave a world-weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers while he took a moment for himself to decrypt what Mugen was telling him. He didn't get much of a chance to before he heard a strangled grunt from the vagrant. Looking up, the bemused expression (think, five year old who has just caught their parents having sex) caught Jin off-guard.

"What?"

"You—you've not your glasses on?"

The soft whine from Jin could only be described as a sound of pure despair.

"You've only just noticed, Mugen?"

"I knew you didn't look _quite _as much of a fag for s'me reason."

"Scholarly," The ronin corrected, "The word is scholarly."

"Yeah, _fag." _

Jin could not be bothered to argue.

"Satsuma's humid, Mugen. The glasses were too foggy to be of any use, and judging by this—"he indicated with a nod to the baffled militia, "You could use all my eyesight."

"Ah, I was doin' fine, _dickhead._"

For the first time, Mugen remembered Jin's smile—because there it _was_, that proverbial turn of the upper lip, the coy peak of teeth from behind the pink of his mouth. With his ebony hair flowing in a tight pony over the side of his shoulder (longer now, three years longer, Mugen thinks) he wonders if _that _night (where Fuu begins to cry into Jin's chest, mumbles "_but Mugen"_ into the night, only for him to hear it) she had been attracted to him. Standing here, he finds it hard to think otherwise, because he encompasses the elegance and beauty Mugen never had. Jin is still smiling when he returns to the present, his dark eyes fixed on his.

"How are the Crow Men, hmm?"

Mugen could only pout bitterly.

"_Enough," _Tanaka finally said. "That is _fucking _enough." He stared hard at the intruder, the lone vein in his forehead snaking closer and closer to the surface, pulsing with the anguish—not for the death of his assassin, of course, but for the chink in what was to be a perfect setup. In an instant, he rose to his feet, a giant, callous hand going for the enclosed sword propped up against the side of the chair. It made a terrifying sound as it was unsheathed, much like that of an executioner sliding the blade along a sharpening stone. It racked Mugen with insecurity; this _doubt _that would usually force him to train for weeks before he confronted this man for a battle. Yet, he was here—standing with a gash in his side, broken bones and the concentration span of a nat. His breathing became shallow in anticipation. He gripped the sword hard.

"I'll let you handle him?" Jin said idly, turning his back on the commander to approach the eager battalion of remaining fighters. He flicked the Kanata from its lock, letting the hilt rest on his thumb in preparation. In spite of the ocean of blood and limbs scattered around the warehouse, there were still so many of them—not enough to give a man of his calibre trouble, but enough to prevent him from helping Mugen. He gave a sideways glance over to the man in question. He was in agony—his body, collapsing under the simple ministrations of staying alive. Even if his eyes were focused, narrowed on Tanaka, Jin knew that this was a suicide mission—and recognised that Mugen was going in without any false semblance of hope. His brow gave a twitch; a tell tale sign of concern. To his surprise, Mugen was sharp enough to recognise this:

"Eyes on ye' opponents, Jin. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine."

"I'll hold you to your word then," he replied after a pause.

"Eh?"

"That the only people we'll allow ourselves to get killed by are each other."

Mugen grinned and edged forward. Jin followed toot-suite towards the hoard.

"Damn straight."

* * *

Fuu leans on her knees, letting the pouring rain cascade onto her back, dripping down the thick tendrils of her hair. She lost her hair-chopsticks somewhere down the winding roads of Satsuma, but that all paled in inconsequentiality. From the hilltop she can see the warehouse she escaped from—but that was all. Under the flash of lightning, the stretch of road is desolate. She is still too far away.

"Must. Run," she pants, staring hard at the ground from her position, hands clenched around the knobs of her knees as she catches her breath. She straightening slowly, feeling nausea, fatigue and despair wedge in her chest. For once, there was someone she worried about more than herself; more than Jin—more than Mugen. She presses a hand to the letter tucked in the folds of her kimono.

"Nekomi..."


	30. UPDATE

UPDATE:

I WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY! DON'T WORRY!

Yeah, I've been getting a lot of questions regarding if and when I will continue this fanfic. I've recently just relocated to the UK for university, so I will definitely be updating – but it's just going to take some time. So please bear with me and keep following this page because there is no way I am leaving this story unfinished!

V


	31. Chapter Twenty Eight

**T I T L E** : Cruelty and the Beast  
**C H A P T E R**: Chapter Twenty-Eight – Elegy Part I  
**A U T H O R** : MockTurtles  
**R A T I N G** : Light T - Mugen's poor language.  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : None  
**S U M M A R Y** : Forgive and Forget?  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

"**Mugen**," Tanaka says, letting the two syllables of his name roll over his tongue, salivating over it as he watches his opponent struggling to maintain consciousness. _He's lost so much blood. _The tone reminds him of Mukaro—always of that overweight vagrant with his colourful, torn shirt and loose shorts—and Mugen feels that he's slipping between the fabrics of time. He raises the hand that nurtures his wound, stares, breathes and thinks, _he can't even tell if he's bleeding—does he even have enough blood to give? _The slice comes hard and fast, horizontal, narrowly missing his stomach although the tip of Tanaka's blade slices through his thin red top. He doesn't relent, and Mugen knows he's running—blocking and running because secretly he's scared although he's not sure of what. He stumbles into the surrounding cargo, trips over heads, limbs, bodies; objects that were people but are now no more than obstacles that Mugen feels sliding sickly under the soles of his geta (_sometimes crunching, sometimes yielding, and sometimes they peel away under the metal of his shoes, skin from bone, eyes from their sockets_) while he staggers in the darkness. Flashes of lightning illuminate the heads. Jin is parrying soldiers in this pit of death and festering corpses and Tanaka stalks him, sword dragging by his side, flashing past his ear, arms, and legs; narrowly missing. Mugen isn't even sure if it's accidental or if Tanaka is just some sadistic fuck, toying with this ignorant asshole that is going to get himself killed over two useless, frail women.

_Mugen? Mugen! Maaa, you're such a pain! Wake up or I swear I'm going to put Mo-Mo down your pants again—_

And he's scared—fucking scared. He's not sure if he's going to puke, shit vomit, or piss from his ass he's so fucking terrified of that sword. And he's not scared of death. Mugen has died too many times to ignore the peace that it offers—the lullaby of the Crow Men, their downy feathers as they cradle the very essence of his soul. So why this trepidation? Why this pounding heartbeat? Why do his feet keep moving, his arms keep swinging like—like limp noodles, shuddering as he deflects one or two jabs by his adversary? He trips and finds a hand-hold—the throne, he thinks. He tries to stagger away, pull his body up—up—up…

But he's stuck.

And his legs won't move.

His arms won't lift.

And his brain is so horribly blank.

Now, there is only a terrible fear and longing within him, which pulses through his bones and innards, keeping him alive.

Still, he can't pin point why and as he raises his face towards Tanaka who gloats victoriously over his crippled frame, peering through the tendrils of his hair now slick with sweat and fresh rainwater, he understands:

The lightning crashes, the thunder roars overhead. And he can see her pink kimono—the soft chestnut hair billowing in violent streams around her face. Her brown eyes are wide and tearful (_or maybe it's the rain?_) her mouth fixed in the aftermath of her silent scream. Fuu stands at the brink of the warehouse, her face peaking and disappearing behind the battling bodies that flit across his line of sight.

_I remember. _

He remembers why he fights. Why he musters the resolve to raise his arm once more as Tanaka's blade whistles through the air, hoping to pierce him—right through the heart, that cliché fuck!

_I must protect her. _

He's transfixed by her expression; the shock and wonder that enliven every branch and dip of her face. She's reaching out to him, running forward and shoving her way through the fighting hoard, fearless, completely unaware of the blades that shoot out around her, almost touching her skin, always scarcely missing—but that's the last thing he sees before the lightning disapporates and there is blackness once more. There is the sound of metal—of a sudden, nauseating slice (that hits Mugen hard and leaves him trembling on the floor) followed by a hearty grunt. Fuu's screams echoes indistinctly in the background and then, the lightning strikes again. Mugen peers uneasily from under his raised arm.

He knows then it's not Fuu who's screaming.

It's him.


End file.
